


A Magister's Birthright

by lrceleste



Series: A Magister's Birthright [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Magic, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Death, Denial of Feelings, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Fluff, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Spoilers, Transphobia, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 96,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrceleste/pseuds/lrceleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A younger, far more rebellious version of himself on some varying timeline, may have swooned over the inquisitor like some starry eyed teenage maiden. But not him, he didn’t ‘swoon’.<br/>And he most certainly did not develop crushes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Swoon

**Author's Note:**

> For a bit of back story, this is set a few weeks after they've arrived at skyhold, but before the main quests after Haven and the Dorian quests.  
>  **This will contain spoilers for quests**
> 
>  **Update 28/3:** I've started going over old chapters and making corrections so there hopefully won't be any continuity or grammatical errors. Up to and including Chapter 9 has now been edited.

A younger, far more rebellious version of himself on some varying timeline, may have swooned over the inquisitor like some starry eyed teenage maiden. But not him, he didn’t ‘swoon’. Instead he greeted him with the same taught graces and the right amount of flirtation and nonchalance that it be considered entirely playful and nothing more. It wasn’t that the inquisitor wasn’t capable of making young hearts swoon, quite the contrary. He was tall, blue eyed, muscular, a public figure that stood for all that is good, his quick humour and generous flirtation was more than enough to capture a heart, coupled with the fact he was a qunari mage, it made him the right amount of rebellious to upset fathers across all of Thedas whilst still being good natured and _very_ easy on the eyes.

He didn’t _swoon._ And he most certainly didn’t develop crushes. It was preposterous to even consider that he shared the same ideas as the girls that giggled as the inquisitor strode past, Adaar winking as they caught his eye, towering over two heads above them. Then the mage would roll his eyes, wonder why the qunari indulged them like that. Dorian was nothing like those girls, but he had been brought up in a noble home, he had an eye for the finer things in life, and he could appreciate that the inquisitor was a fine specimen indeed.

The inquisitor was, to most, a people pleaser. He did what he could to make many feel at home, no matter how far away from their actual home they were, the Tevinter mage included. He knew the right way to be with people to gain their favour. It meant that everyone enjoyed spending time with the inquisitor, even Sera tended to behave slightly better than usual when she saw Adaar approaching (only slightly better, you can’t expect miracles) but that might have been in part due to the fact that the qunari also had language that could be quite colourful, and the attitude to match his words, though only in the right company, it put her at ease. Despite being the inquisitor he was one of the 'little people' she was so fond of. That’s what he does best.

It was probably why he was developing feelings-

No. That was ridiculous. Perish the thought.

=

Dorian liked to think himself a man of refined tastes and in many aspects it was undeniable. He had a penchant for wines and finery; it was how he had been raised. He would only accept the finest attire, Tevinter of course, wines, well; he might stretch as far as accepting Orlesian. But there was something about the roguish nature of south Thedas and many of its inhabitants that he found quaint and charming in some respects, however he would never out right admit that.

He wets his finger aiding in turning the page as he mulls over what he could possibly find charming about the freezing temperatures, locals who would go far as to spit on him (actually spit on him, it happened twice and he hadn’t even had a chance to open his mouth yet, rude) and inability to get a moments peace to himself.

As if right on cue an unmistakable mass fills his peripheral vision, disrupting his reading. He’d been expecting it for roughly an hour, surprised that it had actually taken this long for the inquisitor to make it to his nook in the library. Upon returning to Skyhold after an expedition the inquisitor visited each of his companions and Dorian was usually the first he visited. It didn’t help his pride in his slightest, or that grin that spread across his lips, slightly too wide to be considered blasé.

With nothing better to do than read and mull over the going ons of the inquisition he’d thought over in length why the inquisitor came to him first almost every time without failure, his residence wasn’t closest to the gates, or Adaar’s quarters, and he wasn’t the furthest away in either case either, there was no logical explanation. So he came to the simple vain conclusion that he was the inquisitor’s favourite.  That fact shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did.

“I brought you something.” He explained, leaning against one of the shelves with a paper package in his outstretched hand. It was obvious from the shape that it was a book of some description, but Dorian wasn’t going to ruin the inquisitor’s fun.

“Inquisitor, are you trying to buy my favour with gifts? What _will_ people say?”

He rolled his eyes placing the gift in Dorian’s lap. “Just open it you arse. I know you’re basking in this really.”

A chuckle slipped from him. The inquisitor seemed to reflect everyone he spoke to, it was sometimes hard to tell who he was when his personality changed dependant on who he was facing, but when Dorian looked at the inquisitor he no longer saw himself speaking back. It was only recently that he’d started to notice it, the foul language that Adaar used with Sera sometimes slipped into their conversations, the jokes he cracked with Bull and Varric came out in that deep laugh and sometimes Dorian laughed, _really_ laughed, very aware that his face was at its least prettiest when scrunched up in laughter, tears streaming down it as he leaned on the hulking qunari for support.

Unsurprisingly, after he’d opened the package carefully, years of taught restraint still present in everything he did, he held a book in his hands. He was however surprised by the nature of the book that he held. It was unnecessarily ornate, a halcyon dragon wrapping up the spine; skulls and other such imagery adorned the cover in shades of emerald and gold, alongside the authors name and title. He’d read their works before, they were well known for their work on necromancy. It was eccentric and over the top, but such are the ways of Tevinter. It drew a smile to his lips before he even realised it was there.

“You like it?”

“Yes, thank you. Where did you find it?” He was genuinely intrigued as to where the inquisitor could find works like this in such excellent condition.

“Found it on some Venatori in the Hinterlands; had it checked over to make sure it wasn’t cursed or anything.” He said that jovially but Dorian knew he probably did take it down to Dagna, which would explain the delay.

“You know. I’m sure you could find some of this interesting too.”

“I’m sure I could. But when the herald of Andraste arrives as a huge qunari mage I don’t need to project arcane fears into my enemies’ minds to make them shit their panties.” Dorian chuckled despite himself. No matter his upbringing he actually found the crass nature of the qunari charming, like one might enjoy the bitter taste of Ferelden beer, or think a mabari cute.

“You think very highly of yourself.”

“Says the one.”

“I have every reason to. Have you looked at me lately?”

“I have. It’s a _very_ nice view.” The inquisitor said shortly.

It was nothing out of the ordinary; they passed flirtation between them constantly. Dorian flirted with many members of the inquisition, and the inquisitor did the same, they were both notorious for being serial flirters. But this was different; there was something about the softness of Adaar’s smile, the slight crease in the corner of his eyes, or the sincerity in his voice. A lump caught in Dorians throat and he swallowed hard, trying to be rid of it. All of the buckles on his robes felt unusually tight and he shifted in his seat, trying to ease the feeling of constriction.

Usually he would have said something witty by now. “I-…” 

“Are you alright?” He asked, and actual concern touched his voice.

“I’m fine, just a little humid. I might have to take a quick walk, clear my head.”

“Ok, I hope you enjoy your book.”

“I shall, thank you.”

The inquisitor left Dorian with a curt nod of his head. As soon as the qunari’s thunderous steps could no longer be heard on the steps to the library Dorian let out the breath he hadn’t yet realised he’d been holding. This was foolish behaviour for a grown man, he knew it, but his body didn’t seem to be responding to his brains commands.

 

A younger, far more rebellious version of himself on some varying timeline, may have swooned over the inquisitor like some starry eyed teenage maiden. But not him, he didn’t ‘swoon’.

And he _most certainly_ did not develop crushes.

 


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian complains a lot about the Fallow Mire. but thankfully the inquisitor manages to cheer him up... for a while.

The inquisitor always takes him on the worst missions.

The fallow mire still dripped from his robes as he swept into Skyhold. Logically most of the water must have been from the torrential downpour that was constant on their return home, but the memory of the corpses rising still clings to him like the dirt on the edge of his robes and he knows there must still be some of the mire there.

Despite the company it seemed like quite a lonely return, nobody desired to speak of their very close encounters with the dead, and their even closer encounters with the living. They had become almost too used to creating dead bodies, but returning them to their graves for a second time had struck a nerve with most of the crew. Dorian generally didn’t have a problem with reanimated corpses; it was an unavoidable part of being a necromancer, his companions, on the other hand, found the shambling bodies unnerving. He wasn’t completely immune to them, of course, they could still make his skin crawl, with their evident lack of it, but he had a slightly higher tolerance threshold.

A heavy hand held his shoulder and he had to stop himself from swearing aloud in Tevene. Tunring on his heel quickly he stared up at the inquisitor. The great qunari jumped back slightly, as Dorian’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to desperately convince himself that it was the shock that caused it to beat so quickly, but the flush on his cheeks could only be explained by the way the inquisitors unnaturally auburn hair clung to his storm drenched skin.

“Dorian, can we speak?”

“Could we take a rain check on that?” Dorian asks with a forced smile looking down at both of their drenched cloaks.

Adaar smiles and it almost makes his sour attitude melt away. Almost. “Of course. I’ll let you settle in, and erm…. Get cleaned up.”

What a sight to behold the Tevinter mage was. He was used to the occasional disgusted glance as he made his way through Skyhold, but todays glances had been utterly repelled by him. Once he was alone, glaring back at his own reflection it was easy to see why. It was embarrassing to think that he had walked through most of Skyhold this way but he had done far more shameful walks in his time. With head held high he combed back his hair, stuck flat against his forehead, before turning his attention to the black streaks of kohl that ran down his face like terrifying war paint. It seemed there was in fact a limit to where its promise of being waterproof ended. If he had the mana to spare he would have a tiny barrier over him at all times, protecting him from the rain or frost or whatever unforgiveable conditions it was that the inquisitor dragged him into next. Unfortunately he knew that wasn’t practical.

Taking a deep breath in, and letting it out through his nose, the smile returned to his lips as he re-lined his lids, waiting for his robes to dry, the rain soaking through to his skin. He took time in his preparations, indulging in the luxury of being wrapped from the waist down in a thick blanket, the fire roaring at his back, lit long before they returned to Skyhold. He was almost tempted to retire for the evening, or venture to the library in nothing but a loose shirt and breeches. No matter how much he desired to see the inquisitors reaction to such attire he shook the thought from mind and resolved to visit the library, pulling on his robes, fastening every buckle and tie in no particular hurry. After all, with all of the quests he’d been on recently he’d barely had time to sit down and read, and the last few pages of Philo Andros’  _Raising the Dead_  demanded his attention.

-

He had barely time to settle into his seat before the inquisitor appeared at the edge of his alcove, holding a large paper parcel in his arms and for a fleeting moment Dorian hoped it was for him again. Not in the sense that he demands new possessions, he simply enjoys being the centre of the inquisitors affections, no matter how vehemently he may deny that to others and to himself. He’s not at all unused to receiving gifts from suitors (not to imply that the inquisitor is a suitor); families trying to buy into the Pavus name, and now the same teenage girls that chase the inquisitor sometimes have an eye for him too. He, of course, has no interest in their ways, but it hurts no-one to let them swoon, even as he joins them in watching the inquisitor. But let it be known he is not swooning, simply spectating.

“I’ve got something for you.”

“Now you really are just trying to purchase my affections.” He realises after he’s said it that perhaps affections is the wrong word, allegiance might have been a better choice.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He chuckles, unfazed by the word choice. “Everyone’s having a new set of inquisition armour made, except maybe Bull; Maker knows he won’t put a shirt on.”

“I always assumed that was a qunari thing.”

“A qunari thing? You expect me to de-robe sometime soon?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you, oh lord inquisitor.” He laughed quietly but didn’t deny it.

Placing the parcel in Dorian’s lap the inquisitor leans up against the stone wall yet again and Dorian wonders if it would be worth investing in a second chair, the amount of time the inquisitor has spent there in the past month it would surely be put to good use. But that feels like something of a commitment, like an invitation for Adaar to come more often and stay far longer, and he was never good with commitments, even unspoken ones.

He opened the packaging with far less care than his previous gift. It was strange, he had to spend time camping in the wilds when he first left Tevinter, hopping from place to place, but nothing quite shook his mannerisms as much as being here did. Don’t mistake that for a confession that he had relieved himself of every Tevinter air. It was still obvious he detested the southern weather, and some of the southern people (but mostly the ones who also detested him) he would not be seen dead in the garb that even the nobles called fashion in Ferelden, and the food… don’t get him started. But he had softened to it, he would never admit it, but Ferelden beer, though bitter, did have a pleasant after taste, and when mabaris looked up with those big eyes and comparatively tiny tails they were rather adorable.

Paper now in shreds; his fingers glided over emerald robes. The fabric shimmered black in low light and the golden designs stand out against it. The fabric seems far denser than his current robes, yet it didn’t weigh much more. There was a tug in his throat as he looks down at it. The colours, the patterns, they remind him of Tevinter designs, but they were so… different, no Tevinter hand had crafted or designed these. They felt like home, but there was something far more comforting in the knowledge that despite their familiarity they weren’t Tevinter robes. They’re inquisition robes.

Dorian coughed quietly, clearing his throat, “They’re-…”

“I thought they’d keep you dry, stop you from complaining so much. But don’t worry I added some meaningless belts and such, don’t want to ruin the image you’ve got going on.” His voice was light and humorous but the smile on his face is sincere.

“Thank you… So what’s the catch?”

“The catch?” He asked with curiosity.

“There’s always a catch with gifts and this is your second in a fortnight. Let me guess, the usual… You want me to marry your daughter?”

“No catch. But I wouldn’t have you marrying  _my daughter_ that’s for sure.”

“I’m wounded that you would think me unworthy of your offspring.”

“No. That’s not- I wasn’t… Doesn’t matter.” Adaar looked down in defeat but the smile quickly returned to his features. “Enjoy your book.”

The inquisitor left Dorian confused. He mulled it over for a few minutes unable to concentrate on the words as he tried to untangle them, tried to decipher the meaning beneath them. He’d decoded ancient spells in almost lost languages before, yet this eluded him, how could that be? He was taught from a young age that qunari’s were simple beasts with only one intention, his death. Of course he never truly believed it, but never did he believe that it would be one of those supposedly mindless creatures who proved to be his hardest cypher to decode.

It felt like only minutes before the inquisitor returned. Without raising his eyes Dorian asked, “Couldn’t bear to leave me?”

“Dorian. I just spoke to Mother Giselle.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“And pray tell what did the revered Mother have to say of me today?” He knew all too well of her dislike for him.

“I have a letter for you.” Adaar explained. Knowing that the two things were connected Dorian didn’t fancy his chances, the odds swung heavily in favour of the letter not being in his favour in the slightest.

“Oh is that so? Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?”

He was already expecting something terrible when Adaar said it. “It’s from your father.”


	3. Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian tries to forget the meeting with his father, and the inquisitor is happy to help.

There are some things better off left unsaid, but Dorian can’t find anything to say.

Even with his usually eloquent speech, no words came to him, and not many had since he had discovered the family retainer was a rouse just as he had anticipated, however not in the fashion he had imagined. Even the words that had come to him when he had spoken to his father had not been dignified or at the very least the ones he’d been hoping for.

A part of him regretted turning away. A part of him thought it weak that he wasn’t able to stay a moment longer, that he’d allowed Adaar to take him away with no hope of reconciliation on the near horizon. Dorian tried to find it in his capacity to hate his father with every fibre of his being, but that wasn’t the case. As much as he hated it, and yes he did hate it, even if not wholly, that man _was_ his father, but there was still a part of him, a younger more naive part, that remembered his father’s pride, remembered his teachings. It was a time before even Dorian really knew that there was something ‘wrong’ with him, and there had even been a few times after he had known.

He sat far away from the campfire, a half empty bottle of whiskey in hand. There was quiet laughter catching on the wind and he didn’t think he could bear to hear the jokes, whatever they may be. His mind drifted to how his life might have been if his father had succeeded in his blood ritual. It’s a painful memory he’d rather not dwell on, but he can’t seem to shake the image. He doesn’t look like himself, far older than he looks now, Livia Herathinos on his arm. They’d probably have had children by now, or at the very least they’d be on the way. He cringed at the very thought, at the very notion that he could have been stood there, against his will. Would he have known? Would he still have spent every moment internally fighting against his father’s plan, unable to do anything?

A large hand rested on his arm, but the touch was gentle. He couldn’t even muster a smile as he turned to the qunari. “He’s a good man, my father. Deep down. He taught me principle is important. He cares for me, in his way, but he won’t ever change.”

Adaar sat down in the grass beside Dorian. The inquisitor’s gaze remained ahead, looking out over the grassy plains. Dorian understood that he’d purposefully remained quiet to allow Dorian to speak. It wasn’t often that he could be described as the strong silent type. Strong? Undoubtedly. Silent? It would take close to a miracle to shut up the herald of Andraste, but there he sat, quiet as a lamb.

“I can’t forgive him for what he did, I won’t.” Then he trailed into silence again.

“You said he tried to change you?” Adaar offered. Dorian knew he was just trying to keep him from falling into quiet, from falling into whatever fearful thoughts he may have been having. It worked; he took the bait like a starving nug.

“Out of desperation, I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavoury private and locked away. Selfish I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me… Acceptable…” He sighed. This was more than he’d ever spoken aloud. The only ones who knew about this previously were the ones who’d attempted to take part in the ritual, because of course his father still had principle, even when he was ordering someone to pin his son against the ground and alter his mind. No, magister Pavus couldn’t use blood magic. Dorian had no desire to seek _them_ out for a heart-to-heart. “I found out. I left.

“You know, it crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn’t want to go through with it… I can’t even imagine the person I would be right now. I wouldn’t like that Dorian.”

He was quiet for a moment longer before he asked, “Are you alright?”

It was soft and calm and comforting, it was like a blanket around him, and it made him feel safe and warm. The inquisitor does that, whether it be with his staff or his words, he makes you feel safe. Even so he could feel his eyes stinging, tears threatening but he had experience, he knew how to keep them back. “No not really.”

A strong arm brushed over his back and Dorian didn’t shrug it off, he hoped that it would wrap around him, he hoped the inquisitor would pull him in under one of his giant arms. He wouldn’t care if Adaar messed up his hair as he stroked it idly, or if Varric and Bull could see them all the way from camp, huddled so close together. At that moment he wanted nothing more. But the arm retracted, and instead of wrapping around him it extracted the whiskey from his reach.

“Thank you for bringing me out here. It wasn’t what I expected, but… it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now after that whole display.” There are still pieces he can’t quite remember, but the less than civilised way he responded to Adaar when he asked about his preference still sticks in his mind. Even if the qunari had suggested that he had explored the idea himself, Dorian was aware that he had been a bit of an arse in his delivery.

“I think you’re incredibly brave.”

“Brave?” The answer shocks him more than he had been anticipating. With the whiskey placed far out of his reach Adaar’s arm snaked around Dorian again, this time more cautiously. His hand rested on Dorian’s shoulder and it made him feel comparatively tiny, but it wasn’t a bad feeling, not in the slightest, it brought that same comfort as his soft voice, and Dorian finds himself giving in to those instincts, finds his head resting against the inquisitor’s chest. He’d never been one to indulge in physical comfort like this, he’d never had a chance to, but it was nice to give in for once, to breathe in the smell of fresh air and mixture of campfire and herbs.

“I know it’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path. I think more highly of you, you know, if that were possible.”

“The things you say.”  It pulled a smile to his lips as he tugged idly at one of the straps on his new robes. “My father never understood. Living a lie… It festers inside you, like a poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.”

It was only when the words slipped between his lips that he realised he couldn’t recapture them. He swallowed away the lump in his throat, chancing a look up at Adaar. So far the qunari had seemed fairly unaware of Dorian’s slip ups, but tonight he had no such luck. Adaar’s expression was one of curiosity, but a flush covered his grey cheeks.

“What is in your heart?” Dorian hoped desperately that it wasn’t the alcohol that saw the inviting way Adaar’s lips quirked into a smile, or felt the gentle stroke of his thumb on his arm. What was holding him back before? The fear that when Adaar discovered the secrets of his past he’d run for the hills? But there he still was.

Everything was a rush. His palm flat against Adaar’s chest, he pushed him back into the grass. He waited a second; the qunari had more than enough strength to launch him several feet in the other direction if he objected to the advances. Instead a hand cupped his head, drawing him in. Adaar’s kisses were sweet, tiny flutters on his lips. Dorian could no longer hear Bull and Varric but he’s an old friend of stolen kisses in secret spaces, these kisses, though admittedly adorable, weren’t appropriate when they could be found so easily. Dorian needed to take what he wanted, and now.

A satisfied moan slipped from the qunari as Dorian’s tongue slipped between his lips. Instead of meeting the kiss with Dorian’s increased vigour, Adaar placed a hand tenderly on the mages cheek, slowing the kiss. He was impatient, he had to be or risk being caught, but Adaar took his sweet time, his hand glided over Dorian’s waist, his tongue and lips moved slowly, drawing out every movement, eyes falling closed. Maker was it sweet.

It was when Dorian let out a quiet moan that Adaar held him away, and he realised he’d abandoned the use of his own arms to lie over the qunari’s chest.

“You’re drunk.” He stated plainly.

“There are men before he haven’t let a small amount of liquor stop them.” He returned for a second kiss but found the qunari’s hand instead of his lips.

“I’m not one of those men.” He clarified, gently rolling Dorian onto the ground. “And I’m going to retire for the night.”

There was no witty response on the tip of his tongue. Dorian had been rejected before, of course he had. He’s handsome and charming, undoubtedly, but interacting with him could be a dangerous business in Tevinter, fucking him could be disastrous. But he’d never been turned down like that, never had a qunari get him so unbearably turned on with their sweet caresses, and then be a gentleman about denying him. Never had a _human_ do that.

Dorian waited as long as he could physically endure so that he could be sure Adaar was back at camp, tucked away in his tent, and far enough away that he was alone with the night air. When he was sure that it had been long enough, or he couldn’t bear it any longer, he wasn’t sure which thought actually came first, with a fumbling haste he unlaced his breeches, subjecting his skin to the cold breeze of the Hinterlands. His eyes fell shut as his hand wrapped around himself and his mind slipped back to Adaar’s hands roaming over his waist, lips tugging at his own. He allowed the thoughts of the qunari to consume instead of fighting them back.

His climax was rough and it was all over quickly, nothing like the kiss. He gasped for the cool air of the Hinterlands, his hands shaking as the images of Adaar’s hands and lips roaming further fill his mind.

What a disappointment he must be, pleasuring himself to the thoughts of a male qunari. He chuckled as he climbed to his feet, realising it was the first time he’d stood up since he started drinking. As he stumbled back to camp he made a note to thank Adaar for his better judgement the next morning.


	4. 'Friends'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party returns to Skyhold, but not before they complete some menial tasks and exchange some banter.

The next morning had been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. He would have accepted his walk of shame, may even have taken it gracefully, but he and Adaar had done nothing more than kiss like two horny teenagers trying to release some pent up sexual tension, and he was in no mood to be remotely graceful. His hair refused to be tamed, kohl smudged over his eyes from the previous day, he looked like someone who had drunk half a bottle of whiskey. Not that it was a lie, but he would have preferred to look more civilised.

When he emerged from the tent unceremoniously, head hanging low and barely even half-dressed Varric and Bull only had to exchange glances before they burst into fits of laughter. Adaar attempted to stifle his laughs for a short time, but a quick glare from Dorian stopped his chuckles completely.

He curled around a cup of tea, as far away from the company as the camp would allow, cursing the bottle that had inflicted his headache. Thankfully it hadn’t been a party or social gathering, he couldn’t count the enumerable amount of times he had woken up the morning after one of those, trying to remember everything that had occurred the night before. Especially hard when the evening had been reduced to a blur of finery and unwanted conversation, with the occasional embarrassing or memorable moment intertwined with the monotonous.

Last night was none of that. Last night was extraordinarily uneventful except one very pivotal moment. It almost made Dorian want to scream and run. The inquisitor, the herald of flaming Andraste, a qunari for Maker’s sake! The rumours would be horrific, any hope of mending ties with his father and his family (of which he had very little intention) would be lost, and only the Maker knows if either of them will survive this whole ordeal. What in all of Thedas had he been thinking?!

He spied Adaar out of the corner of his eye, the qunari offering him a gentle smile before rising from where he perched on one of the logs that surrounded the ashes of the campfire. Dorian needn’t have watched him approach, he could have heard the heavy footsteps approaching, every noise seeming unnecessarily loud, but he couldn’t draw his eyes away. When Adaar stopped, towering over him, Dorian had expected, well, an inquisition, instead the qunari held out the tea pot.

“Tea?” He asked gently. It almost physically hurt how cute the hulking beast was.

-

The return to Skyhold was the same as any inquisition quest; they started out with the intention of returning as soon as possible, but were soon plagued with the burdens of the masses. They’d returned so many family heirlooms and collected an unimaginable amount of trinkets. As well as stumbling upon the not so common occurrence of saving a guard who had been enjoying a ‘picnic’ with her female mage companion. The guard had been very quickly taken into the inquisition with little question.

Dorian almost made a comment about mages who prefer those of their gender and Adaar having a soft spot for them and those who copulate with them, but for once in his life he held his tongue, deciding it in his best interests. After all they were still in the company of Bull and Varric. As if on cue Varric’s voice called up from the front of the pack. Dorian had been trailing behind, still nursing his migraine.

“Should you be married of right now, Sparkler? Little magelets running amok?” Dorian rolled his eyes at the nickname. Varric had explained the meaning behind it once, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“I think maybe mage-ling has more of a ring to-” Bull began but Dorian cut him short.

“If my family had their way, yes.” It seemed the whole group had slowed down so that Dorian was now in line with them. Adaar had likened them to a terrible boy band, the four of them, two huge qunaris, a dwarf and Dorian, what a sight they must be to behold. The Iron Bull completely lacking a shirt, Varric’s barely leaving much to the imagination and Adaar, well who needed to say much more for the poster boy of the inquisition. The four of them together was a bachelorettes wet dream.

“Had someone lined up for you, huh?”

“Livia Heradanus.” The images from the night before returned to him and he wished he could fight them like he would something physical, if only it was so easy to burn thoughts. “Bright girl, hourglass figure, wicked tongue. Glad I’m gone I imagine.”

“So you have a lot of arranged marriages in Tevinter?” Adaar asked.

“I don’t think we have any other kind, at least not in the magisterium. It’s all very selective breeding.”

“And you all complain about the Qun.” Bull grumbled. “You ‘Vints are just as bad, you just don’t want to admit that you’re all being controlled.”

“I, well… I see your point… You say these things, but you’ve got no trouble with a ‘Vint’ fighting behind you.”

“Nah. Hope you like the view.” He winked; a ridiculous action with only one eye. He strode ahead a few paces making a show of it, drawing a laugh from both Varric and Adaar, and Dorian had to admit his sour mood from yesterday has lifted, Tevinter had been forgotten for now, surrounded by two qunaris and a dwarf.

“Ten royals says the next thing we run into farts fire.” Varric betted.

“I hope it does!” Bull announced happily.

“The amount of shit we’ve seen I don’t dare bet against it.” Adaar admitted, though there was hesitation in his voice that glint of excitement in his features was unmistakable. It was a qunari thing they’d never understand

“So Varric, you’re a betting man.” Dorian started. “What’s your estimation? Think we can win this?”

“Are you asking me to give odds on our beloved inquisitor’s success?” They all looked to Adaar who was then searching through his pack evidently preoccupied.

“What would that look like?” Dorian chuckled mischievously. “Three to One?”

“In _his_ favour?” Varric asked gesturing to the qunari, whose tongue was hanging out ever so slightly in concentration, and it took all of the mages willpower to keep from laughing.

“After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking?”

“Yeah that guy has a fucking _dragon!”_ Bull added emphasising the fact that the odds are in fact not in their favour.

“Are you bastards taking bets _against_ me?” Adaar asked finally looking up from his pack.

“Now now, if I weren’t here it would be five to one at least.” Dorian stated. He receives a hearty slap on the back from Varric.

“You know what, I’ll take those odds.” Adaar admitted.

“And that is why I adore-” He cut himself short. The words were so ready to slip from his tongue, so ready to be heard that he had to bite down to stop them. Why was that such a common thing when Adaar was in his presence? He desperately hoped it wasn’t obvious, but the blush on his face, matched on Adaar’s spoke louder than the word he’d bitten back.

A glance was exchanged between Varric and Bull and Dorian entirely expected their usual raucous laughter, but instead they remained silent. Both of them look straight ahead. Until Varric spoke, “You know I was thinking about writing a book on the inquisition.”

“Don’t you fucking dare?!” Dorian hissed. Then came the laughter he’d been expecting. “Me and Ad-… The inquisitor and I are good friends, nothing more.”

“Sure thing Sparkler.” He doesn’t sound convinced in the slightest but they didn’t push it any further.

-

They managed to stumble into Skyhold, completely exhausted, well after nightfall. Barely any conversation was passed between them after they arrived, other than varying grunts of “Good night” as they all parted ways, dragging their feet to their quarters. Dorian barely had the energy to remove his robes, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to clothe himself in attire suitable for sleeping, so he lay atop the sheets, the fire once again lit before they returned. He made a mental note to thank whoever it was that consistently lit his fire after every mission.

His mind wandered as he lay flat on his stomach, naked back exposed. Sleep captured him quickly, but not before the images of large hands roaming his body, lips leaving trails filled his mind.

-

With his father trying to reclaim control of his life, sneaking away to kiss boys in secret, drunk off stolen alcohol, waking up in sheets sticky with his own seed (it had been an embarrassing trip to get them cleaned, the servants adamant that the sheets were new for his return, _yes I know but they’re no longer fit_.) Maker, he felt like he had regressed and become a teenager again. Not one of the most pleasant periods of his life.

“Master Pavus.” An Orlesian accent demanded. Perfect, exactly what he needed.

With a groan he replied. “Mother Giselle what a pleasure it is to see you as always.” His tone stated otherwise. He understood that the chantry Mother was looking out for the inquisitor, but her emotions towards him were based solely on stereotypes, ones that although true for many, did not ring true for him.

“I wish to speak with you. I believe you have somewhat of an… undue influence over the herald.”

“Now whatever would give you such an idea?”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing-” He really had no desire for her petty arguments and accusations.

“I’m being clucked at by a hen, evidently.”

“Don’t play the fool with me young man!”

“If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing, I assure you.”

“Your glib tongue does you no credit.” He had no desire to continue the argument and knew there was only a few ways to really be rid of the prying chantry mother.

“You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your reverence.” He spoke in the most sultry tone he could muster leaning towards the revered Mother. It was worth it to see the shock dawn on her face, before she prepared to return to her accusations.

“Oh, I… Inquisitor.”

“What’s going on?” Adaar asked, and Dorian knew, he _knew_ that the qunari must have heard every word he just said.

“It’s seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my ‘Undue influence’ over you.”

“It _is_ just concern, your worship; you must know how this looks.”

“You might need to spell it out, my dear.” Dorian knew this wasn’t so much of an argument anymore, for what it was worth he did hold a minor influence over the inquisitor, undue or not.

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumours alone…”

 “You know I’d love to hear these rumours.” Adaar chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

“I… could not repeat them, your worship.”

“Repeat them? So it wouldn’t be the first time you’d said them?”

“I… I meant no disrespect inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive-”

“Which I do.”

“Then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.” She bowed her head courteously before leaving the library, whilst some of her dignity still remained.

“Well that’s something.” Dorian stated. He could feel Adaar close to him, shifting his weight.

“Did she get to you?”

“No, it takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations.”

A silence hung between them for a moment and Dorian wondered if he should fill it, but then Adaar spoke, “’Friends’?”

Dorian swallowed away the lump in his throat. This wasn’t a simple inquiry into the state of their relationship, though even that would have put him on edge, this was specifically referring to what he had told Varric only the day before.

With a sigh he began, “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.”

“I’m fairly certain that assumption could be backed up by factual evidence. If those circles really tried.”

“I suppose they could. But we haven’t been extremely intimate you and I, they wouldn’t have very much to go off.”

“That’s an awful shame; I mean we can’t deny Varric a decent story, his last romance serial was a pile of crap from my knowledge.”

“Is the herald of Andraste suggesting what I think?”

One hand cupped his face; the other found its place resting on his arse, as their lips pressed together. He was aware of a pile of books or two toppling the ground as Adaar pulled him into his nook, so that they were hidden from the majority of the library.


	5. Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor comes to Skyhold.

It was strange how Dorian could liken the great qunari to a docile house cat. The inquisitor, a powerful mage who had vanquished so many foes, somehow found a way to curl in on himself in Dorian’s little nook, fitting his entire body in the forest green chair that had been placed there especially for him.

Yes, Dorian had asked after a chair for him, it wasn’t quite as lavish as his own and it clashed horrendously with everything around it, but Dorian found it endearing, the way it reminded him of the qunari, the colour remarkably close to the mark on his hand, and its presence obnoxiously loud and unmistakeable, even though it wasn’t trying to be. Adaar seemed to like it well enough, especially when he curled himself around a book, stating that he’d rather read in the library than his own room. He couldn’t hear Dorian’s quick wit and tall tales there. “Unless you wanted to join me in my quarters?”

“Is that an invitation? I may have to take you up on it.” It had been a week since their passionate make out and since then nothing had been said of their relationship.

Adaar chuckled and continued to read, one of Varric’s novels, _Tale of the Champion._ He was certain Adaar had read it before and wondered why he chose to read it again. The mage had managed to stay away from Varric’s novels until he had joined the inquisition, Cassandra had been suggesting some of Varric’s other titles to Dorian after he’d stumbled upon her reading _Swords and Shields_. They were dull and incredibly uninteresting, and unlike the warrior he was vastly more capable of hiding the joy he found in Varric Tethras’ erotic friend fictions.

“Any good?” Dorian asked after a short while, placing his own book in his lap. He’d heard tales of course, about rebel mages blowing up chantries and knew that he should probably read the tale himself; Tevinter had a tendency to twist legends to suit its own needs.

“I’ve read it all before but it’s as much research as I’m going to be able to get.” He sighed before looking up from the book. “Varric’s brought an old friend to help out; he should be arriving any minute now.”

“An old friend? As in _the champion of Kirkwall?!”_ Adaar shushed him, but there was barely anyone else in the library now that construction of the mages tower was complete. If the Champion was going to be in Skyhold it wouldn’t remain a secret for long no matter what he said.

“Yes. He didn’t outright say it, but you know he’s just building it up for effect.” With another sigh he added, “Maybe I should be putting my efforts into researching how to stop Cassandra from murdering Varric on the spot. I know this book off by heart, I know about the qunaris, and the mage rebellion and Anders, I know it all.”

“Ah yes, Anders, will the rebellious mage of every Tevinter’s dreams be gracing us with his presence?”

“What?” Adaar seemed genuinely confused by Dorian’s question, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“They adore him. He blew up a Southern Chantry whilst screaming viva la mages to the Maker; it appears Magisters have a soft spot for that kind of blatant disregard for Templar order.”

“It could be risky, being on the run and all, but I mean the two of them are partners, I guess he could bring him here.” His attitude was so blasé as he said it that it caught Dorian off guard.

“Partners? Do you mean to say Hawke aided in the destruction of the Chantry?”

“No, as in, they’re together, they’re fucking each other.”

Dorian knew the shock must have been evident in his features. When his facial muscles finally caught up with his brain, he drew in a heavy breath. “The Imperium tended to omit that nugget of information.”

“You didn’t know? Tales of the champion is partly about how the two of them ended up together. Next you’ll be saying you didn’t know the hero of Ferelden ran off into the sunset with a man.” The inquisitor chuckled for a moment before he saw the surprise yet again etched on Dorian features.

“Oh I see, it’s pick on the ‘Vint day again. Hilarious.” He tried to sap all of the humour from his voice to show how completely unamused he was by Adaar’s antics.

“No, I’m being serious. The hero of Ferelden ended up with the elven assassin, Zevran. And Hawke and Anders are an item. I thought that was common knowledge.”

“Not in the Imperium.” Dorian replied. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but he tried to blink away the shock, how many other things had been omitted, how many other tales twisted by Tevinter to make him believe what they wanted, to be that perfect model of society that the Imperium strived for. Any deviation from the norm was vilified, and had to be discouraged or destroyed. Children grew up with role models, following in the footsteps of those they admired, and Dorian had to wonder if the mirror image he could never find had been omitted from Tevinter’s history books.

“Really? Hey, we’ll talk about this later ok? I’ve got to go and meet him.” Adaar rested a reassuring hand on Dorian’s and squeezed lightly, before leaving to meet the Champion.

Dorian had always found comfort in books. When the world was demanding, pushing and pulling him and trying so hard to shape him into something he didn’t recognise, books demanded nothing, his attention and emotions were freely given. Only books saw the true range of his struggles, only they saw his emotions in their rawest forms. The power of a book was limitless. It didn’t need to contain spells to be dangerous, to enchant.

The book sat on Adaar’s newly acquired seat, checking to see if anyone was watching for no apparent reason, Dorian reached and took the book quickly, stealing it away to his own chair. It was foolish of him. Just as it had been to indulge in Cassandra’s ridiculous romance novels. It had always been foolish of him when he preferred to escape to other worlds than face his own, but that was his own plight. Behind his wry smile and dry wit he was a dreamer at heart, he knew it, and a part of him feared that maybe Adaar was catching onto the notion that perhaps Altus Dorian of house Pavus (most recently of Minrathous) was a front, and he was more simply, Dorian, and little more.

He settled in comfortably for an extended reading session.

-

They never had a chance to finish their conversation. As soon as Adaar finished his conversation with Hawke the inquisition was finding a Warden, and then, they were storming Adamant. Even in the days it took to travel to the Wardens fortress they still couldn’t find time alone, and Dorian was thankful that Adaar didn’t try to make the conversation public. The camp after all was a testosterone filled hell. Blackwall, Varric, Hawke, Loghain, Cullen and of course Adaar. All of them either had an entire army at their command or a heavy blade with years of training and enough wit to compensate for their lack of army, and a tongue smart enough to make you believe they had one.

Thankfully the nights passed uneventfully, until the final night, when Adamant was so close it was almost in sight. Everyone had retired to bed, and Dorian had hoped that perhaps he could catch Adaar’s arm and request a private conversation. He didn’t have much of a desire to continue their conversation from back at Skyhold but it had been almost two weeks since their kiss and he was yearning for some kind of conformation that it was something more than that, a kiss. He knew it was stupid to hope for anything more, but Adaar made him want to.

“You’re a Tevinter Magister?” A quiet voice asked, and Dorian was reminded that he was not alone with his thoughts.

Looking up he made eye contact with the Champion of Kirkwall. He’d met people he’d read about in books before, scholars and the like. But this was different; this man had become a legend. He wasn’t like the story that Varric had weaved, sure there was still undeniable muscle under his robes, his face was still admittedly handsome, but there was age behind his beard and long shaggy hair. Had he seen him on the streets Dorian would have thought him some homeless veteran, given him a few coin and thought nothing more of him, this man did not strike him as the Champion of Kirkwall. Of course he had been on the run for Maker knows how long.

“I am of Tevinter, yes. But I am not a Magister, I am an Altus.”

He carded a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face. “I had a friend from Tevinter but the two of you must have had completely opposite lives. He probably would have ripped your heart out.”

“You mean Fenris? Yes he and I lived completely different lives.”

He seemed taken aback for a second and then it clicked. “Sometimes I forget that nearly _everyone_ and their grandmothers know who I am. It’s rather disconcerting. Gives everyone else the upper hand when they know every intimate detail of my life.”

“If it’s any consolation you’re not that big of a deal in the Imperium. Freeing slaves and the likes, they’re not too fond of you. Now Anders on the other hand, Tevinter is his number one fan.”

“His only fan.” Hawke laughed humourlessly. “There are a lot of people still unhappy about the whole ‘blow up the chantry’ idea. Turns out people aren’t fond of that, Cassandra included. We might have to head to Tevinter if things turn really sour again.”

“The Magisters wouldn’t approve of… Well the idea of the two of you is abhorrent to most of them.”

Dorian discovered that for an aging mage Hawke was very light on his toes and incredibly quick. He was also shockingly tall, and it was glaringly obvious as he grippes Dorian’s collar in his fists, pulling their faces close together. “Have you got a problem?”

Hawke was like Adaar in that respect, charming and humorous, but so ready for a fight in order to protect his friends. “If you would let me explain, I personally have no issues with your relationship. The Imperium however would not look upon it so fondly. Trust me, I know.”

His collar was unhanded and a smile pulled at Hawke’s scarred lips. He wondered what he had said to warrant such a reaction. “So, you and the inquisitor?” He wiggled his eyebrows as if the tone of his voice was not suggestive enough.

It took him completely by surprise. “The inquisitor and I are very good friends!”

“So I’ve heard. You know Varric is _very_ good at telling stories, and I know yours, but he’s also a compulsive liar. I’m sorry you had to deal with that by the way. The world can be a cruel mistress or, whatever the male version or a mistress is.”

“Did you need to crease my outfit?”

He chuckled. “You’re a strange one Pavus.”

“As are you Hawke. Varric’s tales paint a saner picture of you.”

He laughs more heartily that time. “I can imagine. But a lunatic running in circles being chased by a qunari wouldn’t sell as many copies as the great battle Varric portrays. Speaking of running in circles being chased by qunaris, you and the inquisitor, honestly?”

“I told you-”

“You know, Varric’s usually very good with his nicknames, sometimes he puts more thought into some than others, usually the less complicated someone seems at face value, the more complicated the nickname. Sparkles?”

“It’s Sparkler, and I don’t appreciate it. He says it’s because I’m all flash and no heat.”

“That’s why I grabbed you; I was expecting a Tevinter mage to give a fireball to the face at the very least.” It seemed he also had very little concept of self-preservation, it made sense in a man who had taken on qunaris as well as blood mages and Templars and was on the run with a possessed mage as a bed partner.

“Yes, well, then you should be thankful I have ‘no heat’. But don’t jump to the conclusion that I can’t conjure a fireball. I’m quiet proficient with a flame. Adaar could prove that fact if you don’t believe me.”

He chuckled quietly shaking his head, and Dorian could see the mage that Varric spun tales of in his novels; he could see the Champion of Kirkwall in that smile. “I can believe you, I was always more of a spirit man myself.”

“You use elemental spirits? Ever thought of dabbling in necromancy?”

“Anders never appreciated blood magic, he and Merrill never truly got along. I don’t want the few friends I retain turning against me when I take up the secrets of blood magic from a Tevinter mage.”

“It’s not blood magic, I despise it. And it’s good to know that the two rebels who started the mage rebellion weren’t corrupted by it. No, necromancy is as much a specialization you could study as say, force magic, however it’s far more sophisticated. I wouldn’t go anywhere near that brutish magic.”

“You realise I trained as a force mage?”

“I know. I’ve read Varric’s book.” Dorian chuckled. “But you seem to have no qualms with insulting my homeland and myself, so I thought I would return the favour.”

“You know Varric was right. I do like you.”

“I would be offended if you didn’t, charming and handsome, what is there to dislike about me?”

“And modest too, what is there not to love? As hopeless as it may seem, there is a man, albeit a qunari one, behind the leader, and I’m sure he’s not like the qunari I’ve met, he seems like a decent man. There’s hope.”

“Is the Champion of Kirkwall giving me relationship advice? Thank you, but it’s not necessary. The inquisitor and I-“

“Are just friends, yeah you’ve said that, three times now. If you think there’s something there, even if it’s fleeting, surely it’s best to know than to go on regretting it. If I’d backed off the first time Anders had told me of Justice it would have been a dreadful love story. I know that sounds like a horrible reason. But, I love Anders. I love him with all my heart, and, and well I want him to know that every waking moment of the day. I want him to know that I love him more than anything in this world. Surely, something like that is worth a shot?”

“I guess. Adaar seems to think highly of your story.”

“You know the first chapters of your book have already been written?”

“Vishante Kaffas. I swear to the Maker I’ll throttle that dwarf.” Dorian muttered.

“Don’t worry; he hasn’t branded it a love story yet, still on the fence about it. But he’d tell you he’s got the eye of a story teller, he can spot a good romance from 50 miles away.”

“I always fancied myself a tragedy, a tale of loss and forbidden love sounds far more fitting than some cliché.”

“I just have one piece of advice.”

“And what is that prey tell?” He asked as Hawke rose to his feet.

“Demand royalties. And proof read before it goes to print.”

“That’s two. You Ferelden’s can’t count for shit!” Dorian called after the retreating mage.

“Best make it three for good luck. Get some rest sparkles, tomorrow we storm Adamant!” He cried thrusting his fist into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too sure about this chapter but I wanted some interaction between the two of them, it just seemed a waste to not involve Hawke revealing the secrets of how two gay mages manage to go on. In case you were wondering my Hawke was named Anluan [(meaning)](http://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/name/anluan) He was a purple Hawke (the sarcastic little shit) but even with the company he kept he was always kind of the wildcard of the group, his attitude and his magic unpredictable. He was a bit like marmite, companions either loved him or hated him. He didn't look like the default Hawke though I thought it wasn't important.


	6. Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all of the heroes return from Adamant, someone had to be left behind to face the nightmare.

The fade had been no easy feat, demons and giant spiders, maker he detested giant spiders. But now they stood on solid ground again, all of them back at Adamant. Dorian’s ears still rang, trying to adjust from passing between a realm not meant for men to walk in, and standing back in Thedas. Though the battle still raged on around them, demons and Wardens still clashing, they seemed to go unnoticed.

“Where are Hawke, and the inquisitor?” Varric’s concerned voice cut through the ringing like a rogue’s blade through butter. Dorian turned to the rift, still open. There was still time. There was still hope.

“They’re coming.” Blackwall said encouragingly, almost lost in that flat tone of his. Dorian wasn’t sure whether he was saying it to the dwarf or him. For the Warden’s eyes wandered in his direction for a moment when he spoke. He had never really seen eye to eye with the bearded man but his words brought a small amount of comfort. “This is the Champion and the Inquisitor.”

“But what if their luck has finally run out?” Dorian found himself saying. He had joked about the inquisitors odds, had commented on his desire for a tragedy, but not like this. Minutes ticked by and he could feel the desire to throw himself back into the fade rising as troubling thoughts broke through any hope of optimism. What if the nightmare had returned? What if they were trapped, the rift inaccessible from the other side? What if something had happened and they couldn’t make it back?

He heard Blackwall’s words, “What are you doing?” before he realised he was so close to the rift, so close he could touch, the green light licking at his fingertips. Maybe just maybe he could climb back through. He didn’t know if that even worked without Adaar, more than likely he’d be fried alive, but he had to try.

“We can’t just stand back and wait for them to grace us with their presence. We have to do something!”

“He’s right.” Varric agreed, though the tone of his voice suggested anything they may try was completely useless.

Then, with a flash he emerged, calm as anything. The same could not be said for Dorian. His heart did not stop racing, even as his eyes landed on the inquisitor, but there was comfort in knowing that he was alive. He was stern and unforgiving as he raised his hand, green lightning striking every demon in sight. It was a look not usually seen on the qunari, and though the strong and silent persona did tend to suit his race, Dorian found it didn’t look right on Adaar’s soft features. There was something they did not know, something that had wiped the smile from Adaar’s features. Dorian couldn’t find the comfort he desired.

Even as the Wardens cheers rang out in Adamant Dorian knew that something was wrong, and he wondered how nobody else could see.

“With the nightmare banished, Corypheus lost both his Warden Mages and his demon army.” Loghain announced. “But in the stories your soldiers will tell, the inquisitor broke the spell with the Makers blessing.”

“What matters is she was right.” Adaar stated. No humour or wit. Not even a smile.

“Inquisitor.” A soldier called. “The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. As for the magister, he’s still alive…”

Dorian drowned out the rest of the conversation, he knew what he needed, there was little need for the rest of the useless information, and instead he focused on what was so wrong with the picture before him. He was ashamed to realise it had taken him so long. In his swell of relief to see the inquisitor safe he had neglected to see that two had emerged from the now sealed rift. Adaar was safe. And Loghain had addressed the Wardens, which could only mean-

“Where’s Hawke?” Varric’s pained voice questioned. Dorian could barely look upon the scene, at the way Adaar’s eyes trailed to the ground. “Tal, where’s Hawke?”

“Varric, I’m sorry. He sacrificed himself to save our lives, without him…”

“Well…” Varric wasn’t weak, but the word was fragile. He turned away, unable to face the truth. Dorian had never had a relationship quite like Varric and Hawke. The closest thing he’d ever had was Felix or Adaar, but he’d had time to say good bye, he’d had months of warning, but if it had been Hawke who had stepped from that rift and told him… He could only imagine how Varric was feeling.

Then every Warden had turned to Adaar, the stoic hero. And he’d accepted them into the inquisition. There would be some who would disagree with the inquisitor, think the Warden’s still vulnerable to corruption, but Dorian couldn’t fault his decision. They would need all the help they could get in ridding Thedas of Corypheus’ demons. Especially when it was proven even heroes weren’t invulnerable to Corypheus.

Not much else was said, and they made their way back to camp swiftly. As many celebrated the freedom of Adamant a sombre cloud hung over the inner circle. The rift was gone, but so was a Champion, and to some, a friend.

-

The anger had been bubbling for some time. Whilst Adaar had been reporting to Cullen about the events that had taken place in the fade, Dorian had been pacing back and forth outside the tent, waiting for the inquisitor to emerge. The thought had been turning over and over, what if it had been Hawke who had stepped out of the fade? What if he’d announced that Adaar wouldn’t return?

By the time Adaar ducked out of the tent Dorian had managed to quell his anger somewhat. He was aware after all that his pacing outside the tactical tent had drawn some eyes in his direction and he would have preferred a private scene for their conversation.

“Dorian?”

“Inquisitor, a pleasure for you to finally show yourself. Can we speak in private?”

“Is everything alright?” He asked, though no concern touched his voice. Instead he rubbed his face and groaned as if he was dealing with a troublesome child or annoying pet.

“You want this conversation in the open?” Dorian demanded to know. He wasn’t a fan of public displays. Tevinter had taught him that affairs were better off kept private.

“I just don’t want this conversation to be honest.”

Placing a hand on the qunari’s chest Dorian pressed him back into the tent.

“Inquisitor, Dorian, can I help?” Cullen asked, as he looked upon the scene. Confusion pulled at his handsome features.

“We’re taking this tent.” Dorian stated. Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but as his eyes fell on Dorian’s glare he decided otherwise. He gathered the few men in the tent and they were gone in a matter of seconds. Being the feared Tevinter magister could have its perks.

“What is-?!”

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

“It would really help if you didn’t speak in your Tevinter riddles.”

“When we fell through that chasm into the fade… I thought you were done for! I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”

“Forgive me?! Dorian, you were right there with me!” He argued. It only aided in spurring on Dorian’s anger, in fanning the embers into flames.

“For making me think you were dead! You sent us ahead and then didn’t follow. For a moment I was certain you wouldn’t. I thought ‘This is it; this is where I lose him’.”

“Lose me?! I’m not yours to lose!” The remark came suddenly, biting into him. The tears that he had been holding stung at the corners of his eyes, testing his resolve. He should have known. Years in the Imperium should have taught him as much. He _had_ known better before he had met the inquisitor, known that he shouldn’t expect more.

“I- I know that. But you’re my friend at the very least, and I couldn’t bear to lose you. Not now. Not like that.”

 “I’m sorry. It’s- been a rough day. With Hawke, and the Wardens, and the fade. Honestly I just need some time to think. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Yes, well, I’m still angry. But you’re right, it has been a rough day, for all parties. I think I’ll retire early.”

And with that he returned to his tent. A leaden weight pulling at his heart as the words sunk in. He’d known it all along, but finally said aloud, they hit him like a maul. _I’m not yours to lose._

_-_

The Western Approach was eerily silent. It made it far easier to hear the commotion that was taking place. It wasn’t loud but Dorian had been tossing and turning in his shared tent, waiting for the moment when the inquisitor would join him and he’d have to feign sleep. That moment never came.

Instead he lay awake listening to drunken laughter. The voices were unmistakable, a dwarf and a qunari, at least he knew they were both safe, and neither of them had decided to throw themselves at a dragon.

Eventually the voices got to him and he decided he couldn’t lie there any longer, tossing and turning in the heat. He rose, covering his bare torso in loose black chiffon robes, Tevinter imports, though they hung open, it was barely cool enough to wrap them around himself, he forwent boots and his staff. Stepping out onto the sands a breeze hit him, and though it was not cool it was preferable to the scorching heat of the day.

The sands slipped between his toes, the warm breeze on his copper skin; it reminded him of Tevinter evenings on the shore a few miles from Qarinus. It was much simpler back then, before he realised the rampant issues amongst his countrymen, before he was truly named a pariah, back when he was young and foolish. How he wished he could be that kind of foolish again, not this stumbling hopeless romantic he had become. That’s how broken hearts are made.

It felt good to be free in loose clothing, no boots, he could see why the Dalish did it. They couldn’t hear him coming; bare feet muffled in the dunes, so Adaar shivered when Dorian’s finger ran over his shoulder, a sultry grin splitting his lips.

As soon as he spotted their faces it was apparent they were completely off their tits, neither of them able to stay sat upright. He looked over them for a moment, his chin resting on his finger as it does when he’s studying a volume intently. “Varric of noble house Tethras and the Herald of Andraste, drunk out of their wits. What an image you two would paint for Inquisition propaganda.”

They both chuckled, leaning against each other. Varric known for his ability to hold his liquor, Adaar, not so much, Dorian had to wonder just how much the two of them had drunk, and exactly where they had managed to find something strong enough to leave them in such a state. The poor sods.

“I’m going to head to bed.” Varric stated, with a quiet chuckle.

“Please, don’t leave on my account.”

“No no, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” Varric chuckled again, stumbling to his feet. Dorian reached out a helping hand, but the dwarf swatted it away, too proud to accept assistance. He knew that pride. He didn’t deny the claim for now; let him have his moment as he stumbled away to his tent.

As soon as the sands beside the inquisitor were empty he patted them with a large hand, and with a roll of his eyes Dorian took the seat, tucking the robes beneath him. Adaar eyed him for a moment before raising an eyebrow and gesturing to the robe, “You’re showing more chest than Varric.”

“I think you’ll find that mine is far more tasteful than that rug he displays. Are you complaining?”

“What no?!” He stumbled over his words slightly as he tried his best to convince Dorian that he approved of his outfit _very_ highly.

“So, do you always carry a bottle of whiskey with you for emergencies?”

“Actually, I found this in Adamant.” He corrected, handing the bottle to Dorian to inspect. The bottle could do with a clean, and the label on it had been written on with a quick (most likely drunken) hand. All he could make out from the writing was that it was a concoction of so many spirits it had passed the stage of being named a cocktail, into the territory of just being plain dangerous. He was not usually one to end drinking prematurely but he kept hold of the bottle.

“This must taste horrific.” He deduced simply from the smell.

“It’s not as, not as…” He paused, squinting as if it would make the sentence come into focus.

“Not as bad as you would imagine?” Dorian offered.

“Fade no! This thing is fifty times worse than you could imagine! It tastes like druffalo shit rolled in Sera’s cookies. Not saying I know what shit tastes like, but I can imagine. No, it’s not as effective as I was hoping.”

He makes a reach for the bottle but Dorian inches it away. “Inquisitor, I suggest you stop drinking, it does no good to drown your sorrows.”

“I learnt from the best.” He jokes looking up at Dorian.

“You realise no-one can carry you to bed. You’re a qunari, it would take three men.”

“Hey! Hey… I know I’m a little chubby but that was a bit rude.”

“You’re at least a head taller than the tallest men in this camp; we don’t even have Bull to _drag_ your drunken arse.”

“I’m not even sure where I’m meant to be sleeping tonight.”

“Cullen and Blackwall are sharing to give Varric some space, if he’s managed to make his way to his own tent, which leaves me with the pleasure of your company.” His tone dripped with sarcasm as he looked at the leaning form of the qunari, unable to even sit upright.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “You know what we could do? We could have sex.” It took him by surprise for a moment.

“I can only imagine how many men the herald of Andraste has lured into his bed with suave lines such as that.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “A few. But none as pretty as you.”

“I’m flattered, truly, and I’ll admit I’ve never slept with anyone quite so… large.”

Adaar’s head slumped forward, his body falling against Dorians and for a moment the mage had to wonder if the Herald had died on his shoulder, he soon felt sloppy kisses on his neck, loose lips and tongue sucking at his skin. He rolled his eyes, placing his hands against the inquisitor’s shoulders.

Readying himself to shift the qunari he paused for a moment when he felt the soft breaths on his neck, followed by a quiet snore. Perfect, the chosen one was passed out drunk and… Yes, he was drooling onto his robes. These were made in Tevinter!

“Inquisitor?” He asked, gently prodding his shoulder. When it proved fruitless he prodded harder. “Adaar?”

He woke with a start. “That- That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

“Truly?” He nodded in reply. “Well perhaps to you, but I’ve said it before.”

“That’s my last name though.” He whispered pressing his finger to his lips. “You’re not allowed to know my first name that’s a secret.”

“A secret? I’ll be sure to remind you of that when you’re more aware.”

His head returned to Dorian’s shoulder again, adjusting so that his horns didn’t interfere, pointed ear pressed flat against his face. It might have bordered on adorable if he hadn’t been a drunken mess. He simply stayed there, and Dorian raised his hand, stroking the qunari’s orange hair.

“I don’t like making decisions.”

“You’re the leader of the inquisition.”

“I didn’t choose that, the people did. I was just some guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now everything is resting on my shoulders. Varric’s ok now but he was a wreck, told me about how he’s going to have to contact Hawke’s brother and shit, and told me stories. I made that decision, I killed Hawke. But we kill people all of the time. What makes this different?”

“It was someone we knew. It’s different when there’s a face and a name and they’re not just a Templar or a Venatori… We have to tell Anders.”

“Anders?”

“Hawke was talking about him last night; he needs to know what happened.”

“You spoke with Hawke?”

“Only for a little while.” His fingers still trailed through Adaar’s hair, it was soothing if nothing else. “He gave me some good advice.”

Dorian could feel the inquisitor smile against his shoulder. “Dorian?”

“Yes?” He asked tentatively.

“Don’t let go of me.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, _amatus_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% on this chapter I wish I could have focussed on Hawkes death a little more, but Dorian only had a fleeting conversation with him, and though he and Varric are friends, they're not at such a stage that he'd spill all. Instead his grieving would have been with Adaar. Also in case you didn't pick up on it Varric's nickname for the inquisitor is Tal, because he has a nickname for almost everyone (except Aveline.)


	7. Technique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party returns to Skyhold and things return to 'normal'.

Things slowly returned to normal. Well, as normal as you could get with an evil darkspawn/magister ripping holes in the sky and summoning demons. They were back at Skyhold, with the Wardens now on their side.

They had taken their time on their return, travelling and completing many more quests for the needy populace, however some of those tasks (Andraste’s tits chasing a golden halla through a field whilst trying to corner the beast and simultaneously not get eaten by wolves or burned alive by Venatori would not soon be forgotten) had gained them the allegiance of the Dalish, yet another valuable ally. The distractions were welcomed, since Adamant he had been plagued by nightmares. None too severe, all vivid dreams and memories that caused him to wake occasionally. He could survive perfectly well without drawing attention to them.

Now he was back with his books, safe in his corner of the library. There had been no more talk of what had happened between himself and the inquisitor, and he was gradually becoming more and more frustrated by the lack of communication. That day though, his frustration centred on the fact that it was early evening, the sun actually blessing them with an appearance, the crows quiet for one solitary evening, and all he could hear through his window was ruckus from the courtyard. It had been going on at least two hours. Barbaric fighting, hitting each other with sticks, wrestling and the like, the crowd cheering. He had a mind to demand that Cullen disperse his men.

When another half hour had passed he finally placed his book down on Adaar’s empty chair. It was becoming impossible to concentrate on the lasting effects of fade rifts even once they were closed. When he stormed down the stairs Solas drew his eyes from the latest addition to his mural, and shook his head with a slight smile. His relationship with the elf was touchy at times, but occasionally he managed to show some emotion.

The closer he ventured to the ring that had been set up in the centre of the courtyard the easier it became to discern exactly what it was the crowd was chanting. When he stepped out of the fort, his eyes falling on the circle that had gathered, the size explaining how they could possibly make so much noise, it became obvious who they were cheering for. Of course Bull would be involved, the great Ox couldn’t deter himself, but surely he had little to no competition here at Skyhold.

When Dorian looked at the line of soldiers, most of them caked from head to toe in mud, it was obvious that his assumptions were correct. Amongst the line a ruffle of feathers caught his attention, still pristine the commander obviously wasn’t foolish enough to follow in the footsteps of his men.

“Commander!” Dorian called, drawing his attention, when Cullen turned his smile widened suspiciously, Cassandra and Varric stood beside him, the dwarf beckoning Dorian to come closer.

“I didn’t imagine you would come to spectate.” Cullen admitted.

“I’m not. I’m here to make a noise complaint. I can’t-” As if to emphasize his statement a roar of applause broke out through the crowd, drowning out his voice entirely. Evidently another imbecile entering the pit. The cheer seemed even more raucous than usual.

“I have a feeling you may want to see this fight Sparkler.” Varric suggested. Before Dorian could refuse the dwarf had stepped aside, pushing Dorian against the side of the ring. “Come on Seeker; place a bet, just for this one.”

Cassandra groaned, but pondered the thought for a moment, “Just this once Varric. Five royals.”

“On Bull?”

“No. I’m going to have faith.”

“No?!” Dorian asked in surprise, turning away from the arena to look at the makeshift bookmaker. If Cassandra thought someone capable of taking down the Bull perhaps he would hold out a moment and see the fight. “What sort of stupid, moronic, wyvern-shit crazy-?”

“Dorian?” A familiar voice asked from behind him. Before he turned he knew the only idiot Cassandra would bet on. The Herald of Andraste. “I didn’t think you’d come down here and slum it with the riffraff.”

Even though he wasn’t at all surprised to see the wide grin and floppy ginger hair when he turned, he was taken aback by the inquisitor’s state of dress. Of course Qunari’s were known in part for their impressive musculature, but unlike Bull, Adaar was a mage, there was little need for it, and he always seemed to be fully clothed unlike most of his kin. Now he was clothed only in breeches with vitaar smeared lazily over his chest, he was admittedly slimmer than many of his brethren, but still gargantuan when stood beside many humans. Dorian was ashamed to admit the things it did to him.

Clearing his throat he tried to compose himself. “I decided it would be worth it to see you make a fool of yourself.”

“Are you betting against me?” Adaar asked in mock horror.

“The odds aren’t exactly in your favour. Five to one?” Dorian chuckled.

“You stalling boss?” Bull asked; his knuckles cracking as he took his stance in the centre of the ring.

“You know I’ll take those odds.” Adaar admitted, joining his opponent. His eyes flicked down to Varric and the dwarf smiled up at him knowingly. It was good to see the smile on his face. Varric had returned with Cullen and his men instead of aiding them in their tasks. Everyone knew it had been for the best, he had been in no fit state to fire a bolt. It was nice to see the dwarf returning to his usual self, even when he was sober.

“Is that why you adore...?” Varric quoted the last time they had made bets on the inquisitor, leaving the sentence open, just as Dorian had.

With a roll of his eyes Dorian looked on at the inquisitor. He was handsome and it was now unquestionable that he was physically attractive, but Dorian didn’t simply lust after him. If it had simply been heat in the pit of his stomach it would have been simple, but there was fire in his heart too. “What I really adore is being right, ten royals on Bull.”

-

The crowd had long since dispersed but Adaar still remained flat on his back. Dorian felt the new coin jingle in his pocket as he approached the qunari. Apparently the fight had been one of the longest of the day, Krem had claimed he could have lasted longer but wasn’t fool enough to go up against his chief. Many thought him a coward but Dorian thought him a very wise man.

Bull still chuckled quietly as he looked down. “You sure you’re ok boss?”

“I’m ok Tama.” Adaar groaned.

“I’ll take it from here.” Dorian announced. Bull put up no fight, reaching down and hoisting the inquisitor to his feet, before heading in the direction of the tavern.

“Tama?” Dorian asked as he watched the inquisitor stretch his aching limbs. He tried his hardest not to be distracted by Adaar’s still naked chest.

“Short for tamassran. They’re kind of like the mothers of the qunari, but Bull… It’s just a joke, he’s an old softy.”

“You’re as bad as Varric sometimes.”

“Not quite Sparkler.” He joked, drawing a groan from Dorian.

“You know you could have so easily won that fight if you’d used some of your magic. I didn’t see any rules against it.”

“I’m not particularly good at magic without a staff.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Even then you struggle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The way you wield, it’s clumsy, suits you well actually.” He ignored the face that he received. “But it does little help for your magical ability.”

“I am a qunari apostate. I can’t get circle training like some people. Mister ‘trained in the circle of Vyrantium’ or whatever shit it was.”

“Then be thankful that one of the greatest mages, straight out of the Imperium is willing to give you private tutoring, no charge, just out of the goodness of his heart.”

“You want to tutor me to use my magic?”

“It would be time better spent than wrestling with a qunari neither you nor anyone else in this hold has any chance of defeating.” A sly smile tugged at the inquisitors lips and Dorian wondered why. This conversation gave him the upper hand. He was the one with the magical prowess.

“I saw the way you were watching. I’m sure you’d watch it again.”

“I swear to the Maker, you qunaris. Grab your staff and _don’t even think_ about asking me to grab it for you.” He saw the way Adaar’s face fell as if his great scheme had been foiled.

“I don’t understand what you can teach me, I already know plenty of spells, I’ve managed to survive this far.”

“Technique. It’s all in the wrist, how you hold you staff can make a great deal of difference.” He rolled his eyes at the smirk that Adaar gave. “But it’s not all in your staff. You need to feel it in your bones. Shoot that target, just a small fireball.”

Adaar pointed his staff at the dummy, a fireball shooting from the end. It was the most unceremonious casting Dorian had ever witnessed.

“That was pitiful. I actually felt sorry for a small ball of elemental magic.”

“I’d like to see you do better with a tiny flame.”

Dorian summoned a fireball, suspending it above his palm; he could feel the heat in his limbs in the very pit of his stomach, smell dry burning wood, hear its faint crackling in his palm and faintly taste ash on his tongue. Each spell touched every sense; it was the way he had been taught. Turning he launched the small ball of fire at one of the dummies in the courtyard, the heat in the pit of his stomach raced up his spine, through every bone, bursting in the tips of his fingers.

“You don’t simply cast a fireball. You feel it in the pit of your stomach, it swells. If you hold it long enough you can taste it. Horrible taste, ash and coal. You don’t just feel the magic in the palm of your hand you feel it everywhere. You’re casting from your staff.”

“It’s a magic staff. It’s for casting spells.”

“No, you’re a mage, _you_ cast spells, the staff simply enhances some of them. When you lay a barrier do you use your staff?”

“Yes.”

“You’re joking right?”

“I told you I’m not very good with using my hands. I use my staff, it’s easier.”

“And what about when an enemy knocks your staff from your hands? What are you going to do then, use your wit and good looks to charm them into submission?”

“You think I’m witty and good looking?”

“That… Is not the point I’m making. I’m trying to inform you that to say the whole of Thedas is looking to you to save the world, you are frankly, a shit mage.”

“Ouch. You wound me. So what should I be doing? I don’t have time to stand around waiting to be able to taste the ash in my mouth when we’re being rushed by Venatori and Templars.”

“Give me your hand.”

“Whoa. I think we might be going a little too fast.” He jests but places his right hand in Dorian’s palm.

Dorian summons a fireball slowly, in the palm that’s holding Adaar’s hand, taking as much time as he can before the flame is conjured, his palm becoming clammy. He can feel Adaar tug away but holds him fast. “Don’t pull away. Feel it. Solas would probably tell you about the currents and the connection to the fade, but I will not bore you with what you can already feel, you can feel the raw magic?”

“I can feel it. Is that what it should be like? It’s… Intense.”

“They claim some spells can be so potent, so powerful, should you cast them right they can actually cause arousal.”

“Now I know you’re joking.”

“I tell no lies… Well, not many. Spells sometimes slip out in love making, have you never had that?” The blush on his cheeks suggested he understood the scenario. “That pressure, that heat, it’s similar to some pyromancy spells.”

“You don’t go raising the dead when you sleep with guys do you?” The openness of the question still surprised him momentarily. Even after the time he had spent with the inquisitor he still wasn’t used to his preferences being declared so openly.

“No. That would be rather unfortunate. Have singed a few robes though. Speaking of singeing, try a fireball again.” Adaar readied his staff but Dorian placed a hand on it, drawing it down. “No staff.”

Adaar looked less than comfortable, but he obliged, placing his staff on the ground beside him. Taking a deep breath he lifted his palm, concentrating on it intently. Inevitably a flame flickered into life in the palm of his hand.

“You’re not feeling it.” Dorian observed.

“Not really. I mean there’s something, but it doesn’t feel like having sex, that’s for sure.”

Dorian stepped forward, placing his hand on Adaar’s stomach he pressed in, watching the Qunari straighten as a breath was pushed out of him. “Don’t let the flame flicker.” He did as instructed. Pressing on his stomach again Dorian stated, “You need to feel it here.”

“I can feel something. It’s kind of, tight.”

“Hold onto that at least. Try and make that feeling increase, instead of wielding a larger flame, make it more intense.” Adaar nodded and Dorian removed his hands. Instead he ran his fingers up Adaar’s spine hearing a ragged breath. “When you cast you need to feel it work its way from the pit of your stomach, through your spine to your fingertips.”

The fireball flew from his hand, and the way his lips split into that smile let Dorian know there was something different. He couldn’t assess how well the spell had worked, but he could feel the magic humming slightly so it was definitely an improvement on the inquisitor’s usual magical ability.

“I heard Saarebas have a lot of raw power, if you can tap into that with the right technique you could be an extraordinary mage. Perhaps more than-“

Lips crushed against his own hungrily. He tensed, stiff as a pole, but his limbs slowly relaxed. Teeth grazed his lower lip and he moaned against the touch. As his hands reached for something to hold, Adaar’s tongue swept over his own. His hands found purchase in hair and gripping horns. Maker it felt so sweet.

“No!” He pushed Adaar away forcefully. He detested himself for breaking off the moment, for bringing about the hurt in the inquisitor’s features. His head whipped around, searching for onlookers. Old habits die hard.

“Shit. I’m sorry I thought you wanted this.” When he was almost certain no one was watching them he stood on his tip toes, pressing his lips to the inquisitors for only a brief moment.

“Fine… But let’s go where onlookers won’t think I’m ‘stealing the inquisitor’s soul’.”

“What did you have in mind?” Adaar questioned, the smile returning to his lips.

He knew he would regret it. It was stupid and naïve and foolish. The Dorian that stood on the sands near Qarinus in the year before they left may have done this, the Dorian who studied in Minrathous would most probably have done this, and drunk a bottle of the inquisitors wine as a parting gift. But this Dorian… This Dorian knew he was a fool for saying it.

“Have you been to your quarters lately, by chance?”

“Not recently…”

“Do, when you have the time. There’s… something there that might interest you.”

“And, when should I expect this something to be there?” Adaar asked as Dorian began to saunter away. The sultry smile pulling at his lips.

“Give it an hour. It needs to freshen up.”


	8. Glass Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How bad does the inquisitor want to be?"

Dorian was good at this, he had done it so many times over, that wasn’t an issue in the slightest. He relined his eyes with kohl, his body feeling pampered after the long bath. He had deliberately taken his time, trying to clear his thoughts. His mind was a storm at sea, waves crashing against the side of his skull. This was what he wanted and everything he had come to fear.

The great hall was empty bar a few still talking in the candlelight. His footsteps seemed loud on the stone, like they purposely drew attention, like every eye in the room turned to him as he marched towards the inquisitor’s quarters. He couldn’t stop to pause as he reached the door; that would be noticed. Instead he pushed the door open, slipping inside.

Collecting himself he went over the speech once again. Yes he had prepared, it seemed preposterous even to him, but he knew there could only be two outcomes. Either way his father would frown upon him for both of them. That brought a sly smile to his lips. It was enough of a start. Something to lure a smile before it naturally found its place, the inquisitor no doubt coaxing it there.

He stopped at the top of the stairs, ready knock, before he decided against it. He was expected after all. His footsteps still sounded so loud in his hears, like drums, like the heart beat pounding in his ears. Adaar didn’t seem to notice however, still bent over his desk, Dorian found his mind slipping, faltering, not for the first time. He so wished to be bent over that desk with him, the great qunari holding him in place. That drew the smile forth.

“So…” Adaar turned slowly, and Dorian wondered if he had heard his entrance. “It’s all very nice, this flirting business. I am, however, not a nice man.”

Adaar shook his head as a smile forms on his lips. The Altus was more than surprised that his façade was holding up, that his voice was steady as he recited the lines, drawing ever closer to the qunari.

“So here is my proposal: we dispense with the chitchat and move onto something more primal. It’ll-”

“Dorian.” The mere sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. “Enough of this charade.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me now, truthfully, do you want this?”

“Trust me I wouldn’t have gone to the efforts of walking the way over here if I had no intentions of following through on my word.”

“So what’s with the constant bring me in, lock me out?”

“Perhaps, I just like playing hard to get..?”

“And now?”

“I’m gotten.”

Adaar closes the gap quickly. Fingers tangle in Dorian’s hair and lips grasp his own, pulling him in, pulling him up. The rest of their kisses have been sudden moments of passion, but this is planned. This is white hot passion waiting, wanting them to fall. It is hungrier than usual. They fuse together with bodies on fire. His mouth leaves for a moment and Dorian already yearns for it.

The brief detachment is heavy breaths as they pull their robes over their heads,no time for buckles and braces, and soon they are crashing together again. His feet leave the ground, lifted, and he has no hesitation, wrapping his legs around Adaar’s waist, pressing himself against the qunari. His back hits the bed and Adaar moans, hot breath against his lips.

Then Adaar’s lips are gone. They slide down his body, catching for a moment on a nipple, sucking gently, and Dorian feels his breath come heavy. All the while fabric rustles as the herald removes his breeches tossing them across the room with abandon. It takes little time for him to work off Dorian’s own boots and breeches, until he is laid bare. The qunari gives a quiet chuckle as he looks down up at the mage from between his thighs and Dorian has never seen a more glorious image.

“What?” Dorian asks with a sly grin.

“I think I really am blessed by the divine. Either that or I was just due some really good luck.” His hand runs over Dorian’s thigh. “You’re gorgeous.”

Dorian wishes he could have given a witty remark, it is not the first time he’s been told, but he feels Adaar’s tongue, hot and wet and at the tip of his cock lapping and sucking gently. It sets the pit of his stomach alight, as heat rushes to his stiffening cock. Low moans escape him as he moves his hips, trying to get more from the gentle kisses and licks.

It gives him the opposite effect, Adaar’s lips leave him again and he yearns for them to be anywhere, so long as they are touching him. He truly doesn’t care, so long as they are claiming him. The qunari reaches to the bedside table but Dorian reaches down, taking Adaar’s semi-erect prick in his hands, revelling in the deep moan he receives. His words at the Approach come back to him _I’ve never slept with anyone quite so… large._ It only makes sense that he’s proportionate.

Large hands hold his hips, lips return to his and Dorian feels a well-oiled finger teasing him open, circling and massaging, before slipping inside him. He moans against the lips, loud and unabashed. This isn’t Tevinter, no-one but Adaar can hear his cries. A second finger teases him open further, and then another. Fingers still inside him, still teasing him, Adaar places a loving hand on his cheek, and he revels in that for a moment, _it feels loving._

“Not to brag but I don’t think you’re used to qunaris.”

Dorian chuckles and it feels utterly ridiculous, laughing whilst this horned creature fingers him. Laughing whilst his legs are opened wide and he is laid bare, Maker, what is he doing? Throwing an arm over his face he sighs, “No, I’m not.”

“Then this might sting afterwards for a little while. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” His fingers slide out, and his lips leave as the Altus turns over under the slight encouragement. Dorian arches his back eagerly, offering himself, and Adaar obliges.

A wide palm runs over his back as Adaar teases his way inside. The noise Dorian makes is not fit for Tevinter, reaching back so his nails can dig into the qunari’s thighs, and Adaar growls, actually growls as he pushes in. If he didn’t already know it would be obvious almost immediately that Adaar has bedded men before. He angles his hips driving down, it takes a few thrusts but then he hits that sweet spot and it makes Dorian want to scream. Instead he whimpers, breath heavy against the pillows. Adaar is not so mindful of his moans. Lips and teeth brush his back and he can hear his name tumbling amongst words he doesn’t understand.

He likes to think there was a witty voice in the back of his mind that said ‘two can play at this game’ when he begged “Fasta vass amatus!” But the words tumble from his lips amidst cries of pleasure.

“Did- Did you say faster?” He grunts.

He finds himself begging again as he rocks against Adaar’s thrusts. “Maker yes!”

Adaar’s hand wraps around Dorian’s cock, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly he succumbs to orgasm. Barely a few thrusts more and he is no longer holding back the screams he quelled. It is some comfort that Adaar lasts only moments longer and then he groans long and hard as he fills the mage.

They stay like that; bodies shaking as their legs barely hold their weight. The lips on his back pepper gentle kisses over his skin and Adaar’s hands continue to roam over the mages body, a thick arm wrapped around his waist, as they calm their pounding hearts and heavy breaths.

“You alright?” His voice is soft, calm. So unfit for the situation, his limp dick finally being drawn from Dorian.

“I think I need to walk it off.” He admits. His body is stiff and he wishes they hadn’t stayed like that for so long.

The arm around his waist loosens its grip, the lips leave his skin and the room feels shockingly cold when Adaar’s presence leaves his back. His hair rises and his skin breaks out in gooseflesh, the sweat on his skin cooling immediately.

He had hoped that this would remove some of his desire, quench some of the lust he felt. He simply had to know what it was like to be with the inquisitor, but now that it was all over he longed for that warm presence wrapped around him once again. He tries to convince himself it is just the cold as he stretches his aching limbs, climbing from the bed as gracefully as one can after being bedded by a qunari.

It’s the first time he’s been in the inquisitor’s quarters and as he stretches his legs he wanders about the room, inspecting minute details. “I like your quarters.”

“Do you now?” He can see Adaar’s eyes roaming over him as he wanders naked through the room.

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity. I just like your appointments. Not that I couldn’t suggest some changes. Your tastes are rather… Austere.”

“You want to ‘Vint’ the place up? Would that involve snakes, because I’m not too fond of them? Creep me out a bit.” He rolls his eyes as he returns to the bed.

“In that case I will have to make some adjustments to what I had planned.”

“Change away.” Adaar’s hand cups his cheek, leading him to the bed and their lips together.

-

Fists curled into balls around the bed sheets. This was a bad choice, he already knew it. There would be tension in his relationship with the inquisitor now. Why does he do this? Always so foolish, so eager, if he had met the inquisitor a few years ago, before all of this Corypheus nonsense, back when he was closer to being a teenager, closer to being young and innocent and foolish in his ways, he might have very easily fallen head over heels in love. Instead he falls into beds, over and over, hoping that maybe it will make up for the dull ache that he feels in the pit of his heart. It never does.

He moves carefully, trying not to disturb the sleeping qunari. It is well into the night, the only waking souls in Skyhold the night watch. He tried to slip out like he always does, unseen and unheard, just a fond memory, but when he was sat on the edge of the bed, head leaning in his hands as he tried to pull himself back into the here and now, to grasp what was happening, he heard a rumbling chuckle. Before he could turn his head in shock the mattress dipped and a strong arm pulled him back.

“Leaving so soon?” Adaar asked, his breath was warm on Dorian’s neck as he ran his nose along the mages jaw, leaving delicate kisses on his skin.

Dorian laughed, hoping that the nerves didn’t show, “You were hoping for a second round?”

“I was at least hoping you wouldn’t slink away in the middle of the night.”

“I assumed that when someone inevitably came knocking in the morning, in search of the herald, you’d be less than pleased if they found you entangled with the son of a magister.”

“Then you guessed my desires completely wrong.”

“Oh.” Was all he could muster. A hand brushed his cheek, lips caught his own, and he knew, he could tell that he looked like a startled halla, but his mind was racing and not one of his thoughts was a command for his face to calm down.

Adaar pulled him into his arms and smiled at him, that goofy grin that looked utterly ridiculous, that made Dorian melt. He gave his glass heart away, and every time they returned it, broken and damaged. He’d fix it, over and over, but in time he forgot what it looked like to begin with, little chips lost, more glue than glass. He’d foolishly given that heart to Adaar, if only for a night, waiting for another chip, another crack. Instead the qunari took it and with big hands so delicate, caressing his face, stroking his arms, drawing him in, they sanded down the rough edges, held onto it for fear it might fall apart. The heart he received in return was just as broken and bruised, but it wasn’t his own, and if given the chance he would cherish it, and put back the missing pieces, he swore on it.

“So why are you really running away? You seemed happy.” The qunari bundled him in his arms, holding him close. He was being cuddled, actually being cuddled, soft fingers circling on his shoulder. He’d never been one for cuddling, never had a chance to really, but this felt- he didn’t even dare think it.

“Only one man has asked me to stay.” He admits. “And it was a foolish thing, the whole affair. We were caught in the morning, and I confessed my undying love to him, but it wasn’t love, not really.”

“What happened?” Dorian found his head settling in place on the qunari’s chest, rising and falling with his steady breaths.

“He got a slap on the wrist, and married a few months later. My father gave me a stern talking to about how I’d brought shame on the family name. We didn’t speak to each other much after that night, thought it best not to.”

“So what’s troubling you? You’ve never had a relationship before?”

“Not exactly… I’m just curious where this goes, you and I? We’ve had fun, perfectly reasonable to leave it here and get on with the business of killing arch demons and such…”

“Is that what you want?”

“All on me, then?”

“Should it be all on me?”

Dorian sighed as his hand idly ran over Adaar’s bare torso. “I like you. More than I should. More than might be wise. We end it here, I’ll walk away. I won’t be pleased but I’d rather now than later. Later might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

He knew the question was coming yet it was still hard to say the words, to form the answer on his lips. He was never fond of confessions. “Walking away might be harder then.”

The arm around him tightened slightly, squeezing him closer. Tentatively he looks up, his eyes finally meeting with Adaar’s. “I want more than just fun.”

“I was… Expecting something different.”

“You should expect so much more Dorian.” It made him blush, not that he was unused to compliments, but he was a stranger to this.

“But where I come from, anything between two men is about pleasure. It’s accepted but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to.”

“So let’s be foolish.” It was what Dorian had been thinking all along, this was foolish, but if the inquisitor was willing to make a fool of himself in an attempt at something more, who was he to deny him?

“It’s a hard habit to break.”

“I’m a qunari, I’m good at breaking things.”

“Hopefully not everything…”


	9. Fear/Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. In case you were wondering what Adaar looks like [I drew this on my Tumblr](http://sjinsbutt.tumblr.com/post/113338917013/dorian-i-think-we-need-an-intervention-adaar-an)

The image was green and brown and red. It swirled into one mess of colour, undiscernible, but slowly the circular room came into focus. A study with shelves of books towering high. The family crest over the hearth, papers scattered over the dark wood desk. Dorian knew this room well; he had been in there many times in his life.

_Alexius pulled him into his office quickly, few words exchanged between them. The man was mad. Evidently. It pained Dorian to say him so, to think that maybe he was not only losing a friend to the blight, but a mentor._

_“Get a hold of yourself! Felix is sick, he needs your help.” He demanded. Had he said that to most Magisters it may have been a death wish, but Alexius was different. Even in his state he was still at least a shadow of the old man Dorian knew, still at least somewhat devoted to a good or noble cause._

_“The research can help.” The Magister muttered again and Dorian was about ready to grab him. To attempt to shake some sense into the frantic man._

_He had never seen his mentor like this. The man was not like many other Magisters, but there was something desperate in his eyes in his actions as he swept aside everything on his desk, throwing specific tomes down with little respect or caution._

_“The research is theoretical, nothing more! Time travel is a fantasy. A bed time story.”_

_“It is possible, I know it is Dorian. You must aid me. If we could use the knowledge we have gathered, if we could travel back then we could save Felix, we could save his mother, surely that should be a risk we are willing to take.”_

_“A risk? What kind of risks are you willing to accept? This was only ever an interesting thesis; this was never truly a possibility. Time travel is… well its nothing less than madness! There is an endless list of things that could go wrong.”_

_He stops still. His frantic searching ends as his shoulders slump forward. The face that turns towards Dorian is broken. He had seen it the moment he had entered the room, Alexius was broken, and at this stage there was only one thing that could repair him. “Dorian, please. You know as much of the magic as I, I need your assistance._ Felix _needs your help.”_

_“I want to help Felix as much as you, but what you’re proposing, it’s near impossible!”_

_“Near. If there is any hope for my son I must take it.”_

_With a sigh he resigned that he must aid in the Magisters madness. For the sake of his good if not only friend. “I must return to Qarinus in just over a month, it will only be a short visit, but until then you have my undivided attention. How long does he have?”_

_“Of course. Thank you Dorian. I could ask for nothing more of you. Felix is all I have.”_

_“I understand. This idea, it is huge, ground breaking. You realise that if we can make this work it won’t remain a secret for long, there will be others who want the powers for themselves.”_

_“I too understand. Felix is my concern, first and foremost. I will let nothing sway me from the course of saving my son.”_

The image dissipated, giving way to something else. Still red and green. As it all came into focus, he decided he wasn’t particularly fond of those colours. A broken down hall, decrepit and ruined. Red lyrium sprouting from the walls and ground. Green magic surrounded him, as did demons.

_He crouched low casting from his very core. Every bone in his body hummed with the energy, his skin was alight with the magic. They had no choice but to succeed. No choice but to prevail, or watch the world be consumed around them._

_This was the future that was never meant to happen. This was the result of a grief stricken man and a few persuasive words. How he wished he had known back then what their meddling would cause, the destruction of Thedas if they were not successful. How he wished he could turn back time and stop them from ever beginning this foolish idea. But of course. That notion ‘if only I could turn back time’ that was the whole reason they were here._

_Soon the demons were vanquished, and he stood over the cloaked body of Alexius, his tutor, face down in all the commotion. More than that, a friend, turned down the wrong path by pain. Even the strongest of men could fall to Corypheus._

_When he reached down to grip the hood, attempting to pull it back, it snagged on something, unmoving. Crouching he moved the body so he could see the face of the man who had once tutored him but it became obvious what the hood was snagged on. Horns. It was not his mentor’s body he stood over. Instead dead eyes looked up at him through matted locks of copper hair thrown out of place._

_They had failed._

 

Body lurching forward his breath came heavy, cold sweat coating his skin. The unfamiliarity of the room disturbed him for a moment as he tried to bring his breathing to a regulated level. It took him longer than he was pleased to admit to remember that he was in the Inquisitors quarters. Though there were no signs of Adaar.

It was a situation he was unused to. He was of course used to waking up alone after a night of passion, it was entirely expected. What he was not used to was waking up in _their_ bed with the sheets pulled over him, a cool breeze circulating but still pleasant on his clammy skin. He was certainly not used to the tray that sat on the bedside table, a simple breakfast of cheeses and fruits set out for him.

Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to run. This was foreign, this wasn’t normal, surely soon enough he would be caught and he couldn’t risk that, especially not with the inquisitor. He hadn’t found much opportunity to sleep above his rank, but the inquisitor certainly held more power than him. A Tevinter runaway more or less, he had very little to lose if he graced the main hall in the shirt that was lazily draped over the back of a chair, the inquisitor on the other hand.

When he climbed from the bed he was thankful that the very minute knowledge of heeling magic that Adaar had seemed to have worked, and there was no discomfort. For a supposed offensive mage he could heal better with his bare hands than he could harm. Making his way to the inquisitor’s desk he took the shirt, holding it up fondly, testing its size against himself. Although he was neither short nor scrawny it was evident from inspection that it would drown him nonetheless. A smile tugged at his lips when the absurdity of the situation hit him.

The blood rushed to his cheeks and he was glad that no one could see him as he pulled his robes on hastily ensuring that he looked at least presentable. It was a heady mix of realisation and contentment that brought the blush to his cheeks. Like a starry eyed maiden, like one of the fools in Cassandra’s books. But he’d stayed!

He composed himself as he made his way down towards the hall. He wished there was another exit to the quarters, but it was simple enough, he was just delivering a book to the inquisitor if anyone asked, no more details needed.

When he opened the door he almost walked straight into the dwarf, hand raised as if about to knock. It threw him for a moment, and the smug smile that pulled at Varric’s lips was almost enough to crack some of his composure at least. “Sparkler? Tal in there, I wanted to ask him something?”

“No. I’m not sure where the inquisitor is. I was just dropping off a book he requested.”

“Sure thing, it’s not my business to pry.” Dorian knew that one of the things Varric loved to do most of all was pry, he was inquisitive, not only did he write stories he searched for them. But for all it was worth he understood when not to pry. The only issue was he had a way of convincing you that you wanted him to pry. “Mind if I ask you a few questions? I’ll walk with you.”

Dorian barely had any say in the matter, as soon as he stepped away from Adaar’s quarters Varric was following him. “I’m only going to the library. And why would you want to ask me questions?”

“Research. I’m going to find it hard enough as it is painting a believable picture of a ‘Good Vint’.”

“I’m sure; perhaps you should stick to writing if art is not your forte. Though I can understand why you would turn to painting, words could not do me justice.”

“This is why I’m going to have trouble with you Sparkler. People need to believe you’re a good guy, and I’m having trouble convincing some of the people around Skyhold, never mind readers.”

“So you still have your heart set on this book of yours?”

“Adaar prodded me a little. After Hawke… Well he suggested I get back to doing something I’m good at, and we don’t have anything to shoot at the minute.”

“Varric, if you think that Adaar and I are going to be the star crossed lovers for your stories then you’re mistaken. Though I admit Adaar probably fits the hero archetype you’re searching for, I am no leading role. Perhaps Cassandra would be far better suited as a heroine.”

“You didn’t say it.” He said with a smirk as they passed through the doors to what had essentially become Solas’ office.

“Say what exactly?”

“’The inquisitor and I are just friends…’ You know Sparkler, you can’t miss it, it’s far more obvious than you think.”

“What is?” He asked, still trying to hide any notion that he and the inquisitor were involved.

“The love bite on your neck.” Dorian’s hand flew up, covering his neck from the dwarf’s eyes. A laugh broke from him. “I’m joking.” Dorian had half a mind to hit the dwarf. “It’s not _that_ obvious, just adjust your collar a little if you don’t want everyone to ask.”

His eyes swept over the room and he sighed in relief when he realised Solas wasn’t there, no doubt though the spymaster would be aware of their conversation. But he did as instructed, popping his collar to hide the bruise that had been left. As they climbed the steps he turned to Varric. “Ok, you were right. But the inquisitor and I, it’s not love story material I can assure you. We won’t be doing any of the things Cassandra would read about for sure. None of that flowers and poetry and romance nonsense.”

The truth was that he was not opposed to it as such; he just did not expect or hope for any of it. The inquisitor had far more important things to do than gather trinkets for him. It was a preposterous notion. One that he would do well to not even consider.

When Varric raised an eyebrow asking, “You sure about that?” Dorian was ready to sigh and beat it into the dwarf’s thick skull one final time. But when he realised Varric’s eyes weren’t on him he followed them. They stopped before his alcove, the same as always with its two chairs and piles of books, but on the end table a vase stood. Filled with flowers, green and red like the chairs (Adaar had tried to argue Dorian’s chair was pink, but the mage had enough sense to know it was pale crimson.) Those colours again, but this time they didn’t haunt him.

It was romantic, and sweet and- and Varric was still standing beside him. “Kaffas. When I get my hands on him…”

“I guess the inquisitor didn’t get the memo, either that or you’ve got a secret admirer Sparkler.”

“I could have many admirers, why wouldn’t I? I _am_ ever so charming and handsome.” Even as he said it his hand reached out for the tiny folded note that perched before the vase. Scribbled inside it simply said:

_You should expect more – Adaar_

It shouldn’t have conjured such a ridiculous smile on his face.

“That’s no secret admirer.” The footsteps on the stairs announced his arrival before Adaar was even visible. “I’ll give you two some time alone. I have some coin to collect.” Varric joked.

“Varric, don’t tell anyone. Please?” Dorian watched as a smile tugged at Varric’s features.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Sparkler, that’s not in my job description. And if you want some easy gold the odds on you two getting together are 3 to 2. Not great but it’s a sure win.”

As soon as he did appear in the stairway Adaar stopped and took in the scene. Dorian’s arms crossed, Varric stood beside him with the smuggest expression he could conjure.

“Am I in trouble?” He asked cautiously already preparing to back down the stairs.

“You might want to get a head start.” Varric joked.

“Don’t you dare run away.” Dorian contradicted. He could see the muscles twitch in the great qunari as he debated whether to flee or stand in the spot that Dorian was now gesturing to, a scowl pulling at his pretty features. Adaar approached cautiously as Varric passed him, winking at him with a nudge of the elbow that was only high enough to knock his hip.

“Okay, so flowers make you angry. I won’t-” Dorian silenced him with his lips. Pressing them together quickly. Almost as quickly as he had initiated the kiss, he pulled back.

“I’m not angry about the flowers.”

“Then why are you angry?” Adaar asked, eyes wide with the surprise of Dorian’s lisp on his own.

“I- I’m not angry… Well, actually I’m a little angry.” He stated, suddenly remembering the mark on the neck. He gestured to it with a frown, and Adaar looked to him brows knitted together in confusion, before gesturing to an almost identical mark on his own neck, not even remotely concealed.

“You started it.”

“Alright, let’s not get into who started what. That’s not the specific reason behind my frustration.”

“Then what’s the problem? Is it because I left this morning? Leliana wanted to speak with me and you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“No it’s not that.”

“Then Dorian please, there’s something wrong and I can’t help if you don’t tell me what it is.” Adaar’s arms wrapped around his waist, and he almost jumped away for a moment before the arms pressed his back to a strong chest and a prickly chin rested on his head. He was being cuddled, again. Every instinct was screaming that they were in public, that he’d already chanced a kiss, and that was foolish enough. Simultaneously they were also melting into the embrace.

“How am I supposed to react to this? You’ve brought me flowers.”

“So… It is the flowers..?”

With a sigh Dorian answered. “It’s not so much the flowers as what they’re supposed to represent.”

“If you’ve changed your mind about what you said last night, if you want to pull out-”

“No!” he regained his composure quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just… I need some time to get accustomed to your affections. Especially if it involves flowers.”

“I’ll hold off on flowers for a little while.” He joked. “Dorian… I saw your fear in the fade, its temptation. You can try to fight it forever, but eventually you’re going to have to give in for something otherwise you’ll snap… Or lead a _very_ boring life. You just have to make sure you’re giving in for the right thing.”

“And you believe that should be you? You believe you’re the temptation I should give into..? I can’t.” Dorian answered as he turned away from the hug, placing his hands on the qunari’s chest.

“I- I think I understand. May I ask why?”

“As boring and dull as you may be, I’ve already succumb to your charms. It seems I’ve already given in.” That wasn’t the answer Adaar had expected, it was evident in his features.

“My quarters, in fifteen minutes?”

“It appears I will forced to surrender, yet again.” He admitted with a smile.

-

“When we were in the fade you said about your harrowing, was that true?” Adaar asked. Dorian found himself staring at the Qunari’s chest the same as the night before, his head resting on his shoulder, an arm wrapped around him.

“I’m wounded that you think I would tell such tall tales. Yes, a desire demon tried to possess me as is the case with all harrowings. Delightful fellow until the whole possession part of it, but that’s what demons do.”

“So what does a male desire demon look like then? You only really see the naked female ones with the weird purple skin, and the horns.”

“They’re mostly the same as their female counterparts, adorned in gold, and very little else, grey skin with a puplre hue, great curling horns. But he was tall, and broad shouldered and muscular. He had a quick tongue, and was actually rather charming considering the circumstances. It would have been easy to give into _his_ temptation.”

“So you have a type?”

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“Tall, grey skin, broad shoulders, curling horns, muscular, ridiculously charming. I’m sure I could find some gold.” He counted the attributes on his fingers as he chuckled. “You know after all of this is over I could take up employment as a desire demon.”

“You think so highly of yourself inquisitor. Even if it were possible, which it isn’t, you think you could pass as a demon of desire?”

“Hey, a desire demon couldn’t ensnare you, but by some trick of luck, here you are.”

“You see that is your problem, you are too blind to see that it is I who has ensnared you, you are caught in _my_ trap, so enamoured that you have yet to realise it is _I_ who is the desire demon.” Dorian joked.

“Are you suggesting that what I desire most is Tevinter mages with ridiculous facial hair?”

“It is far more tasteful than this.” Dorian scoffed, running his fingers over the qunari’s long stubble, more of a beard by now. “Honestly, you Tal-Vashoth are barbarians, when was the last time you shaved?”

“I was thinking of growing it out. Would you protest?”

“We sleep together twice and I get a say in the arrangements of your facial hair now? I feel touched.”

“You’re the one that’s going to be kissing it.”

“Am I now? Go ahead, have your fun, grow it. But if you think this means you have a say in mine you’re mistaken.”

“I wouldn’t change your lip caterpillar for the world… You know if you were a desire demon I’d let you take me. Though it seems I’m the one who’s been taking you.” The qunari received a playful slap for that, but Dorian’s smile indicated there were no hurt feelings.

The kiss Adaar received suggested just as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't absolutely sure about this chapter, it's more filler than anything, but don't fret, I'll be getting back to real plot next time, and the subject of birthrights...


	10. Birthrights - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Birthright (noun)**
> 
> 1\. privileges or possessions that a person has or is believed to be entitled to as soon as they are born  
> 2.the privileges or possessions of a first-born son  
> \- http://www.thefreedictionary.com/birthright

He was a fool, he already knew it and it should have taken him far less time to realise that there was no coincidence. When the inquisition involved itself in matters there was very little fate if it could be persuaded in their favour.

 

Ponchard was an infuriating man; he could remember that much from their interaction in Orlais, but things had changed since then. Dorian was no longer a starving runaway; he was a valued member of the inquisition. Not only for his magical ability, though it seemed his lessons were being appreciated more and more as time went on. No, he was now also appreciated by own particularly member for the wicked things he could do with his tongue when on his hands and knees.

That thought brought a smile to his features as he remembered the inquisitor the night before. His sneaking into the inquisitor’s quarters was becoming an almost nightly occurrence. It had been two weeks now and the rumours were beginning to fly, he even heard a few nobles gossiping on his way down to the gates. These weren’t like Tevinter rumours though, of course many of them held spite; he would never be free from it. Did people really have nothing better to do with their lives? But still, he had heard one woman call them ‘adorable together’ and it was still lifting his spirits.

He had slept there a few nights after their first, but it was becoming harder to cover the dreams that were still haunting him, bringing back memories that he had tried with every fibre of his being to repress. He still remembered them, but he didn’t want the minute details of the occasions dragged out in his mind’s eye, old wounds reopened. He certainly didn’t want others to see that weakness. The nightmares were getting worse but some nights he didn’t wake with a start, his mind conjuring memories of blood and fear. Instead he was blessed with giant spiders. And it was something to say he was _blessed_ with the image of spiders.

 

“Ah monsieur Pavus.” The Orlesian accent grated on him ever so slightly, especially when it dripped from a small man who said his name as if it was almost a joke.

“De Lieux.” He said curtly. “I’m very grateful that you could drop by on your travels, I have some matters I wish to discuss with you.”

“And I with you.” In all honesty he had been a tad surprised when the merchant had accepted his letter so eagerly.

“Fantastic. Then I’m sure we both understand that I wish to purchase my amulet from you. I assume that since you’re standing before me you’re not enough of a fool to have sold it.”

“Of course not, it has brought me a great deal of aid in the Imperium. Although I will not part with it so easily, I do have a proposition for you.”

“Ever the business man. Go ahead.” Although he didn’t like the sound of it he had managed to earn himself a fair amount of gold with the inquisition, it’s leader favouring him when they ventured out of Skyhold. Truly he would have to stop taking advantage of the man. The only issue was he didn’t realise until after the inquisitor stated that he very much held Dorian on a golden, diamond encrusted pedestal, that that was the case. It wasn’t like he didn’t return the favours, whilst aiding him on the battlefield and through invaluable magic sessions.

“I desire aid from the ‘erald of Andraste.”

“Unfortunately I am not the Herald of Andraste. I have gold, name your price.” Dorian could hear his voice becoming snappy before he truly felt the anger setting in. It was his dilemma and he was determined to deal with it on his own terms.

“I cannot simply sell this amulet to you. It is worth more than gold. Your inquisitor could help me gain more power than I can with this amulet.”

“Then I hope you enjoyed your wasted journey.” He hissed, before turning away. That’s what it was always about, power.

“Surely it would be simple for you to sway the Herald, I have been here less than a day and already I have heard… rumours.”

“Fuck the rumours!” Dorian turned back to the merchant, and the way the weasel steeped back suggested his anger was painted plainly on his face. “What I and the inquisitor do or do not do is entirely our own business. And even if I could make Adaar agree to your ridiculous plan, I don’t desire to have him involved in my personal endeavours. So thank you for your visit. Good day. Please try not to freeze to death in the mountains.”

The regret hit him in waves as he sat in his corner of the library. First when he realised he may never get his amulet back. Yet another mistake that just proved him a fool. His head buried in his hands, he let that wave draw away from the sands. It was just another reminder of his family, no matter how much he desired it, he could live without it for now, and one day he would have it again.

Then the second wave came crashing in. Rumours were spreading, rumours that the merchant would no doubt take back to Orlais. Rumours of the inquisitor and the mage he was bedding. The Magister and the Qunari. That’s what they would call them because they knew nothing more.

The third wave did not wait for the second to recede, in the tales that would be passed down about the inquisition he wouldn’t be a dashing love interest, a handful of clichés or a tragic, bleeding heart. No, he would be the Magister that had the Herald of Andraste wrapped around his little finger. That was how they would depict him, a snake in one hand a qunari eating out of the palm of the other.

Wave number four was a surprise to him. It came in the form of Hawke, a man twisted beyond recognition, barely a husk of the hero he once was as he fled Templars, mages, everyone. But boy did he sell volumes. How much of _his_ life would be omitted when they printed the Tevinter edition? Would he be there at all, the Pariah of house Pavus? Or would they mould him into the very thing he had fled, would they turn him into the Dorian he had run from?

“Dorian?”

His fingers relaxed, his scalp blessing the freedom. He hadn’t realised he’d been tugging at his hair quiet so vehemently. He didn’t particularly want to look up at Adaar, to see the concern that he already knew was going to be plastered there, but he did.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He smiled.

“This wouldn’t have something to do with an amulet…”

“How did you hear that?” It clicked rather quickly when he heard one of the crows squawk above him. “Let me guess a little birdie told you? A nightingale by any chance? It’s a personal problem. I don’t need you to make a big issue out of it. I’ll get the amulet back… Somehow. On my own.”

“I don’t understand. Is it a magical amulet or something?”

He sighed as Adaar took his seat, showing no signs of leaving in a hurry. “The Pavus birthright. The flashy thing you show peons to make them tremble at your impressive lineage. I didn’t leave Tevinter with much in the way of coin. So I sold it… Entirely forbidden of course, and foolish, but I was desperate. I’ll figure something out.”

“The last time you spoke with your family, well, I was there I know how it went. Why would you want that back?”

“Because it’s mine” he said with agitation. “And it shouldn’t be passed around like candy.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“It’s reason enough. Just leave it be.” He snapped. He wasn’t going to explain the sentimental value it held.

“I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Yes, _I_ will. I’ll get it back.” The way Adaar cringed at his exclusion was obvious. “ _I_ lost the amulet. I may not have your resources, but I will not ask you… You have too many people asking you for everything under the sun. I won’t be one of them.” He pushed away the thought that informed him he already was.

“Dorian. You don’t have to ask, I’m offering.”

“Offer rejected, thank you very kindly.”

“You’re a stubborn ass sometimes. I hope you know that.”

“I am aware.”

-

Things had been tense since then. Dorian hadn’t snuck into the inquisitor’s quarters over the next few nights, nor had Adaar come to visit him again. As such it was a surprise when an expedition to the capitol of Orlais was announced, and Dorian was informed that he would be in the party leaving the next morning.

It was frosty between them, more so than the landscape, and they didn’t even have the pleasure of Varric and Bull’s oral sparring to keep them company, instead they had the spirit in the dwarfs place. Dorian had to wonder if that was an intentional manoeuvre, Adaar hoping that maybe Cole would spill whatever it was that was truly troubling Dorian. It only made him more determined to remain quiet.

He thought he was doing well, almost three days without incident. Then the words came.

“Hands grab, pulling, pushing, begging... Moulding” For a moment he almost managed to convince himself that it was someone else’s head that Cole was reciting for a change. “A string of lovers left in his wake, but none of them were lovers. None of them had love to give.”

“Yes thank you Cole that will be enough.” He stated through gritted teeth.

“Glittering to gloss a hidden hurt. Unlearning not to hope for more. Stumbling steps where the wall used to be.”

“Are you quite done?”

“Why are you so angry?”

“They’re just a having a bit of a domestic kid.” Bull answered. Dorian was already thinking of a comeback but he softened, it had stopped Cole’s speaking at least. That was enough for now. He might even thank the Bull for intervening. He had little qualms with Cole, but he would much prefer to keep the workings of his mind hidden. He’d spent most of his life perfecting the art of hiding his inner mechanisms, he’d rather not have it all brought to naught by some nosey, albeit well meaning, spirit.

They were a day away from Val Royeaux when Cole slipped into that tone again. It was not his own, and made it immediately obvious when he was about to slip into his mind reading trickery. Dorian hoped foolishly that it wasn’t his mind the spirit planned to infiltrate, but when had he ever been so lucky.

“It is quick and slow all at once. Hearts fast, hands lazy. I press on, bodies crash. But what if he leaves?”

“Here we go.” Dorian sighs.

“He is too good for _me_. I wonder if he does not see me right. He says the word and it sounds like everything but I don’t understand. _Amatus.”_

He realised quickly that it was not his mind Cole was speaking of, even though he recited that word. His head whipped round to look at the inquisitor, a flush covering his grey skin. If it had been his plan to bring Cole along it had backfired terribly.

Admittedly it was almost as much his secret as the inquisitors, but he wasn’t aware that the qunari had been holding onto the word, he’d only said it all of three times, and two of those had been barely distinguishable moans.

“What does it mean?” He finally asked.

“Have you tried picking up a book? I’m sure the library has something that could answer your question.” Of course Dorian was almost always in the library, he would most likely discover if the inquisitor took a book on Tevene, especially one that actually defined amatus.

“You’d be surprised how little we have on Tevinter.”

“Trust me I’m not surprised in the slightest. Truly, all of those ‘gifts’ to the inquisition and the best you can do is the Malefica Imperio? Trite Propaganda. But if you want twenty volumes on whether Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, it is the place to find it.”

“That’s the Dorian I know, critiquing every book in my library… You’re still pissed because I offered to help?”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” He asked through gritted teeth. The sooner they arrived at Val Royeaux, the better. He was growing tired of riding in close quarters with the inquisitor, especially when he was acting as if Dorian was simply a stubborn child.

-

He was a fool, he already knew it and it should have taken him far less time to realise that there was no coincidence. When the inquisition involved itself in matters there was very little fate if it could be persuaded in their favour.

 

He followed the inquisitor through Val Royeaux, the rooms they would be staying in for the evening were lavish, far more than he had been expecting, then again the inquisition was gaining influence at an alarming rate, and there was no such thing as a simple inn in the capital of Orlais. At least not the type you would find in Ferelden.

Adaar insisted that they separate into two groups and hunt for supplies, with Bull and Cole more suited to sharp objects and the like he grouped them together, whilst he and the inquisitor could search for magical goods. Though Bull was happy enough to take the spirit under his wing he knew it was more than a simple shopping task.

He could hear the two talking as they wandered away. “So Cole, you’re good in a fight, and your hearts in the right place.”

“It is? Good.”

“I’ve got a plan. I think this could get you sorted out, get both feet on the ground.”

“I have to lift my feet or the rocks make noise when I walk.”

“Yes… When we get back, you’re going to spend an evening with a nice lady named Candy.”

“Can I lift my feet?”

“She’s gonna lift more than that.”

Dorian chuckled as he watched the two of them wander away. When he eventually turned to Adaar, the qunari’s arms folded across his chest, the smile dropped from his features. “I’m not going to stand around and let you lecture me.”

“I’m not here to lecture you. You’re a grown man.”

“Glad you noticed. Now are we actually going to purchase something or are we just going to draw the gaze of onlookers?”

 They meandered around the market for a while, inspecting staffs and tomes, none quiet as good as the ones they had stolen from dead Venatori, there were only a few trinkets worth their attention. He was about to suggest that the give upon their search, or the inquisitor admit the real reason as to why he separated them when it became obvious.

“Inquisitor! Good, good, this is exactly what I was hoping for!” That accent was insufferable.

Even with those ridiculous masks that the Orlesian’s favoured so highly he could recognise the snivelling merchant. That was when he realised just how much of a fool he had been, yet again, he was not one to disappoint. Of course it was more than coincidence that they were in Val Royeaux weeks after his tiff with Ponchard.

“What? Is _that_ why we’re here?! I said I wanted to do this myself. I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, least of all you.”

“I apologize but that won’t be possible. Do forgive me inquisitor,” he sucked up to him like the snivelling good for nothing he was, the pathetic air of it all rolling off his tongue in waves. “But when I heard of your… Association with monsieur Pavus, I could not resist. It’s not coin I seek for the amulet, but influence. Influence you possess, but which the young man does not. Providing, of course, you desire the amulet? For your friend?”

It was almost as if Dorian was no longer there, as if he had disappeared from the conversation entirely, despite the fact that he still stood there. Despite the fact that they were discussing _his_ amulet.

“Aren’t you a merchant? Why not just sell it back, make yourself some coin?”

“I am not a fence monsieur, I only bought your friends amulet because of what it is.” He detested the way the weasel had held the rumours over his head in Skyhold, and now that the inquisitor was stood beside him he was using the word friend at every given opportunity. It was almost as if he could sense their recent hostility.

“I do business in the Imperium, having a birthright, even one not your own, is most useful in… select situations.”

“He’s got the right of it there.” Dorian admitted, though it pained him to think what Ponchard had been using the Pavus birthright to achieve.

“That’s why I gave the young man so much. If he relinquished it, how is that my doing?” Dorian thought it wise not to confess to the man how desperate he had been at the time and just how much it meant it to him, it would only make it more valuable.

“Well congratulations, I’m here, what do you want from me?”

“The league de Celestine is an organisation of wealthy noblemen in Orlais, I would join but I lack the lineage.”

“Say no more, I get the point. You want me to pull some strings and get you in?”

“That _would_ be worth the return of the amulet.”

“What do you think Dorian?”

“Oh, I actually get a say in all of this?” He sighed shaking his head. “Leave the man be. I got myself into all of this, I should get myself out.”

“Perhaps you should accept your friends help monsieur.” Ponchard suggested, and later Dorian could mull over whether or not he had imagined just how derisive it had sounded. But right then it was the last instance in a long string of angering events.

“Kaffas! I know what you think, and he’s not my friend, he’s-…” He could see the glare that Adaar shot him out of the corner of his eye. He’d seen that look before but never had it been directed at him. “Never mind what he is.”

“As you desire. Even so that is the price, I shall accept no other.”

“Very well then, I’ll get it done.”

“What?! You’re going to give into this cretin?”

“Do you want your amulet back?” He snapped, and Dorian knew he was not the only one whose nerves had been touched. There would be an argument; he could see it coming with no need for premonition. Nothing like the little lovers (he cringed at the word) tiffs they’d had so far, this was going to be different.

“I… Yes, I do. I simply-“

“Much obliged your worship.” Ponchard cut him short before he could even try to recover the thought. The moment I receive an invitation form the league I’ll have the amulet delivered.”

“Influence-mongering” Dorian spat, knowing that if he said anymore out on the streets he would no doubt make a scene. He could hear the footsteps following him as he made his way back to the inn. This was going to be unfortunate for all parties involved.


	11. Birthrights - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pariah (noun) ******
> 
> 1\. An outcast.  
>  2\. Any person or animal that is generally despised or avoided.  
> \- http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/pariah
> 
> WARNING FOR VIOLENCE AND BLOOD IN THIS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you so much for the Kudos and bookmarks and comments! Even if I don't reply I still read them and appreciate them so much (I just don't know how to reply)!

“I was trying to help.” So they were having this now?

He didn’t turn to look at the inquisitor and continued his march. “I don’t want to be in your debt. I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt.”

“You don’t think..?” He asked sarcastically as they pushed through the front doors of the inn. Eyes were on them, he could feel them burning. They rushed up the stairs quickly.

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

“That’s the problem. You don’t want to discuss anything until we’re face to face with a Magister or some shit.” Out of the sight of gossiping onlookers it was becoming harder for him to hold back the anger that was brewing.

“Ah yes, because you’re an open book, of course. I don’t even know your first name, oh lord inquisitor.” His fingers were grasping the handle to his chamber, but he didn’t have the willpower to open the door and step inside. It would be so easy to end this conversation but instead he let it continue.

“You’re so closed off its infuriating. You’re so used to being a spoilt brat that you have no idea how to treat people like living beings.”

“But you’re not a human being; you’re a qunari, very slight difference.” It wasn’t meant to come out like that. He was furious with himself the moment it slipped of his tongue but he was in no mood for apologies.

“Oh, I see, here we go. So this is the part where I finally get to meet the racist Tevinter arsehole side of you is it? This is the part where it’s finally revealed you’re just a Vint at heart. Now that you have your amulet back are you going to run home to your slaves and your blood magic?”

“Venhedis! I might just do that. The slaves tend to treat me with far more respect than most of the filth around here. You know the slaves are actually more hygienic than most of the inner circle. I’ll just head back home because maybe what Cole said was true, I am just _too good for you._ ”

“Oh, _you’re_ too good for _me_?”

“Look at me. You weren’t blessed; you were just someone who stumbled into the Conclave at the wrong time. What in the Maker’s name was a Tal-Vashoth doing there in the first place?! It could have been anyone. You were just an accident.”

The inquisitor’s face darkened as he bowed down before him. “Well your birthright is on the way _Magister Pavus.”_ He spat the name as if it were poison on his tongue.

Little thought went into his following actions, the hand that lashed out, colliding with Adaar’s cheek. “Nequiam kaffas!”

The words slipped from his lips in Tevene, before he could hold them back, and as soon as he said them his heart filled with regret. Adaar didn’t know what they meant, as far as he was aware it was just another curse, but Dorian knew the meaning. He knew the way his mouth shaped around the words, but when they were spoken the voice he heard was not his own. It dripped liked poisoned honey, dangerous and thick.

Words heard in the fade, that almost seemed comical at the time, but now the nightmares voice rang in his ears as clear as if the beast was stood over his shoulder _“It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment I mistook you for your father.”_

It was his father’s voice that had escaped his lips.

_“You know this is not what I wanted Dorian.”_

_“Well it’s nice to know what you want, but isn’t that what all of this has been about? You and continuing on this family? This isn’t a matter of what anyone want’s anymore, this is all a matter of pride. I’m only here so I can carry out the path you laid out for me, so I can be your perfect son and raise the perfect family. Well what about what_ I _want for a change?” Dorian was surprised his father didn’t stop him._

_“Dorian. I am willing to put this foolishness to rest, but you must marry Livia. Arrangements could be made to help-”_

_“No. This isn’t some phase. This isn’t some rebellious act.”_

_“You must forget all of this! You will marry as we have planned, and you will not bring any of this to the attention of others… You have brought shame on the Pavus name. You were so perfect Dorian, what went wrong?”_

_“Nothing went wrong! There- there is nothing ‘wrong’ with me, and I can’t just forget this, this is who I am. I enjoy being fucked by men and there is nothing-”_

_A hand collided with his cheek sending him reeling, falling to his knees in the shock of the moment. He knew it would leave a bruise, but that was the least of his worries. His eyes turned up to his father, to the Magister that stood before him unwavering._

_“_ **Nequiam kaffas** _! You are no son of mine!” He spat, and Dorian flinched away from the words more than the hand that had struck him._

_“Is that it, father?” He hissed the word like venom. “You’re going to beat me into submission. Beat me until I’m black and blue and everything you wanted.”_

_“Dorian. Go to your chamber.”_

_“I’m not a child; you can’t send me to bed with no supper. It won’t change who I am.”_

_He could feel the magic crackling and it unsettled him just how potent it was; how he could feel it in his bones even though it wasn’t his own. Without another word he obeyed. There was little else he could do for now._

_So he returned to his room, still the same, unchanged from before he left for Minrathous. Unlike him. The thought lingered in the back of his mind. In his time under magister Alexius he had befriended his son, a kind boy, with nothing but good intentions it seemed. Far too kind a spirit to be bestowed upon the Imperium, it would be a shame when they eventually lost him to the blight, no amount of magic could save that boy. Felix had done little help for the rebellious tendencies that already flared inside of Dorian. He, the scion of house Pavus was already making a name as a pariah and agitator._

_All he could do within his parent’s home however was wear the rug thin as he paced about the room, wondering when the next argument would come, what its subject would be. They were not the most loving family, that was undoubtable, but before that evening neither of them had raised a hand to him in such a manner, leaving their sharp looks and sharper tongues to do the work._

_There was no knock on the door before it swung open. Dorian knew it could only be his parents, no slave was that brash. True to form his mother stood before him in a silk dress, as black as the night. Evidently she had retired for the evening, already having removed her robes._

_“I knew that your naïve venture to Minrathous was an ill-considered idea.” Was her welcoming words. He’d been gone over a year and those were the first words she could say. It was nice to know his absence hadn’t changed her._

_“I’ll have you know I was barely beaten in my year in Minrathous. But within a week of my return I am set upon by my own father like some common Soporati thug.” He would not mention the few assaults he had experienced. They were not worth the frustrating conversation that would arise._

_“I am speaking of your unmentionable activities with noble sons in the capital. We have offered you slaves Dorian. Could they not appease these urges?”_

_“No.”_

_She grabs his chin, tilting his head to inspect the bruise that was no doubt blossoming. The touch was far too harsh to show motherly love. She prodded the spot, showing no remorse when Dorian winced, instead she clucked and rolled her eyes as if he were over reacting to the whole scenario. Her fingers gently massaged the bruised skin, healing magic seeping from her fingertips. Dorian was glad that she was at least moderately sober for the occasion, if not entirely. She had a nasty habit of casting spells incorrectly on her worst days._

_“Your father was a fool, if anyone saw this there would be questions. As it is you have created enough rumours. You take it from his side of the family, your stubborn foolishness.”_

_“And what do I take from you? My intelligence and fondness of strong liquor?”_

_“Your smart tongue.” She replies cuffing him on the ear, though it is a gentle touch. She smiled though. “Which you would do well to hold. You have already found yourself in enough trouble, need you find more?”_

_“I’m not looking for trouble; it comes looking for me it seems.” He admits with a sigh._

_She pats his cheek and it’s as close to a motherly embrace as he can hope for. But he can see them, the scars on her wrists and some are new, he can tell. She has been casting again. “You are to remain here until someone comes to collect you in the morning.”_

_“Where will they take me?”_

_“To meet your bride-to-be.”_

_“I knew you would say that, there was little point in me asking.”_

_“Hush Dorian, all will be well soon enough.”_

_Eventually he retired to sleep. Only after he had skimmed through his old books for a while, paced a bit more and cursed the fact that although he wasn’t under lock and key, he knew the slaves would be watching. They would see his every move and inform his father with no hesitation, it was their job._

_He was rudely awoken. Assuming it was so he could be introduced to Livia as the man she would marry he receded under the covers, tempted to curse and cast away the slave that was waking him. But it was his father’s voice that drew him out. “Dorian. Enough of this foolishness. We need to put an end to all of this.”_

_Sliding back the covers he climbed from the bed quickly so that he could inform his father of the true extent of his disapproval. But his head swam, nausea gripping him. As his body crashed to the floor, darkness seeping into the corners of his vision it registered that it was still night out. The sun had not yet risen._

_“Why?”_

_“You must forget this foolishness Dorian. Arrangements have been made.”_

_-_

_Hands held him, pushing and pulling, but never loosening their grip. His head was foggy; his lids heavy as he pushed them open against the strain. His magic was just out of his reach, so close that he could skim it with his fingertips, yet far enough that he could not grasp it. The lingering effects of magebane. Even without it he knew he was in danger, he knew he wasn’t safe._

_Voices spoke in hushed whispers, some of them sounded familiar to his muffled senses, others were strange and new. They wanted to hurt him, like the hands, the voices wanted to hurt. His skin was hot, alight with something that felt unnatural, magic he had never felt before._

_He shifted and the hands gripped harder. A low voice called, “He is waking.”_

_“We need to act swiftly.”_

_The urge to fight grew ever stronger as more hands gripped him, holding down his arms. His senses sharpened as he felt the blade break his skin, slicing into his wrist drawing the blood. He cried out in pain, his mind too clouded to care about covering up the hurt. Then they sliced again, shredding his skin._

_“That is enough blood. The ritual can begin.”_

_No. No, this couldn’t be. “ **No**!”_

_He ripped away his hand surprising the mage that had been holding it down; swinging that same fist into their cheek caught them equally off guard. His wrist throbbed with the pain. As his eyes tried to adjust he could only see the streaks of red that streamed down his arm._

_Struggling to relieve himself of the other hands he reached deep into his mana, hoping that he could grasp enough magic to shock them, enough magic to stun and escape. His magic didn’t so much return to him as force its way out of his body. Building up he felt like he was going to explode as he tried to conjure a fireball in the palm of his hand, instead the heat burned through every artery. It was as much pain as it was relief, the fire bursting from him in no particular direction, no control, no course._

_The hands left him and he spent no time in inspecting the damage he had caused, the screams were enough of an indication. His limbs barely bent to his will, but he found enough strength to climb to his feet, the room spinning. His breath came fast, heart pounding in his ears. The door. His fingers grasped the cool metal of the handle and it made the pain flair up his wrist._

_Thankfully it opened, and he stumbled out into the hallway. A few elves looked on at him in horror as he stumbled into the wall gripping his bloodied arm._

_He ran. He ran as hard and as fast as he could. Until he could no longer hear shouting. Until he had left the home and was in the streets of Qarinus. He ran until he was pushing through the doors of his parents’ home. Frantic and desperate the world was still but his heart still pounded. Tears were already streaming down his cheeks._

_“Dorian?” His mother asked from the head of the stairs. She was confused. Not at all concerned by his state, not at all motherly. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Fuck- Fuck you, and fuck him!” The words came out with little thought; all of this came with little thought. His voice and fingers shook. “Why? **Why?!”**_

_“We just wanted to help you be normal.”_

_He laughed. Actually laughed, though it was manic even to his own ears. “Is that what you call it?! Get my staff, and- and my robes. And I want my birthright, and a horse.”_

_Instead of doing anything herself she turned to a slave at the end of the corridor, instructing them. “This is foolish Dorian. Where will you go?”_

_“Minrathous. I’ll return to Alexius, I should never have left.”_

_She descended the steps slowly, the same dress sweeping over the marble. “You look shaken.”_

_“Venhedis, I wonder why?!”_

_“It was for the best.” His father’s voice stated. The rage only burned hotter. He wondered if it would happen again, if he would explode._

_“I can’t believe you played a part in this, both of you actually working together. Perhaps her, but **you!** You hate blood magic and you fucking did this.”_

_“This was my decision. It was for the best.”_

_The slave returned with a bundle, and Dorian snatched it before either of them could say a word. His mother sighed, “At least let me heal your wrist.”_

_“I’ll have your magic nowhere near me. This is it. Men that I once thought were good turning to blood magic and the Venatori.”_

_“_ Nequiam kaffas **.** _Get out. You are no son of mine. I- I am only sorry you escaped.” His father said. It hit Dorian like winter’s grasp. Not ‘I’m sorry it happened’, or ‘I’m sorry you’re hurt’. I’m sorry you found out that you are free to live a life without a puppet master constantly tugging on the strings._

_“I’m sorry I failed you.” With that he turned, and he was running again. Thankfully an elf was waiting with a horse near the gates. He dipped his head when he saw the state of the Altus, tear streaked and covered in his own blood, still bleeding profusely. He would have to seek out a healer he had never been good with healing wounds._

 

“Dorian? _Dorian?”_ The sound of his name pulled him back.

Adaar stood before him, hand cupping his own cheek as he looked down with impatience. His voice returned to him slowly. “W-What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?! You just punched me in the face and zoned out.” That would explain the throbbing in his knuckles. The anger melted from the qunari’s features. “Are- Are you alright?”

“I’m fine! And I’m sorry about your face.” Even to his own ears his voice sounded shaky at best.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it was nothing!” His voice sounded far more solid that time around.

“My face would beg to differ, that was quite clearly _something!”_

“Again I’m sorry about that, it wasn’t my intention. But I explicitly told you I didn’t require your help in this matter, and yet you still had to rush in and save the day. And now I am indebted to you.”

“Is that why you’re so pissed, because you think you’re under some obligation to me? Dorian, I didn’t do it so you’d be indebted to me, I did for you.”

He sighed, running his fingers over his face. “No, _that’s_ the problem.”

“How is that a problem? Is this the roses all over again?”

“No.” He answered through gritted teeth, before restoring composure. “Can’t you see, someone intelligent would cozy up to the inquisitor given the chance, it’d be foolish not to. He can open doors, get you whatever you want, shower you with gifts and power. And before you say it this still has nothing to do with the roses. They were a very pleasant surprise.” The final line came out far angrier than he had been planning.

“Then please tell me what this is about. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

“Still wanting to help me. Can’t you see? That’s what they’ll say. I’m the magister who’s using you.”

“Let them say whatever the fade they want. I don’t give a shit about _them._ ”

“Naïve, but adorable. That’s how they’re going to tell it, that you were probably under my influence the entire time. That I have you under my command.”

“But we know the truth.”

“And what is that?”

“They’re right. Go ahead and use me Dorian, or are you all talk?” The words rumbled, and Dorian could almost feel them in Adaar’s chest, pressed so close to his.

“All talk?” He snarled, and was surprised by his own strength as he pushed Adaar back. The qunari looked affronted for a moment until Dorian demanded, “Which is your room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I'm not sure, never am. If you hated the whole flashback element then please let me know and I'll be sure never to use it again. Also I took some liberties with the Tevene it essentially means worthless, good for nothing.


	12. Kadan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More filler than thriller...  
> NSFW at the beginning, kind of rough but it doesn't last long.

They stumbled into the room, clothes already being removed, torn in the process, cocks already straining against fabric, lips mashing together hungrily. Adaar was weak to his advances, he fell to the bed when Dorian pushed him and let out a deep moan as his teeth sunk into his skin, intending to leave marks.

Dorian was very much used to receiving, in Tevinter that translated as he was supposed to roll over and take it with little question or interference. He wasn’t, contrary of many of his previous partners, some simple submissive, he was merely restrained enough to understand it was best to remain quiet and take it, than risk being heard and lose the small chances of intimacy he had. This was nothing like that.

“Tell me what you want.” Adaar moaned.

Dorian’s reply was short and sweet, carried on a breath. “You. In me.”

Legs straddling Adaar’s waist, erect dick pressed flush against his stomach, Dorian grasped hungrily at the qunari, lips bruising, moans tumbling with almost every breath. It was a shock when he felt Adaar’s oiled finger teasing him. With a smirk he pushed back against it, revelling in the feeling of being entered. Adaar could do wonders with his fingers, palm pressed flat against Dorian’s ass. The hand pushed against him, fingers caressing that spot that made him whimper. Adaar’s lips pressed against his neck forcefully no doubt leaving marks of his own.

“Venhedis, just take me.” Dorian demanded.

“Take yourself.” Adaar chuckled before clarifying. “Sit on my dick.”

“That was by far the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” Dorian laughed breathlessly, though he was happy to oblige, receiving a few tender strokes before Adaar removed his fingers. The qunari moaned beneath him as Dorian threw on the oil, giving little care for precision; he was desperate, wanting, his hands sliding over the stiff member in hurried strokes.

The noise, moans and screams, and the filthy wet sound of skin on skin, they were not suitable for Tevinter, and it made him chuckle. It was absurd how often he laughed whilst being fucked by Adaar. Even with hands bruising his hips, aiding him as he took in a qunari’s dick, Adaar’s neck and shoulders peppered in marks, he still laughed. The wanton moans that escaped him as he bobbed his body up and down were a string of Tevene that made very little sense, even to him.

It didn’t take long for either of them. It had been almost two weeks since they’d touched each other like this, and it was obvious they had been begging for it, but both too proud, too stubborn to make amends. Adaar came first, thrusting against Dorian as he climaxed. His cock begging for release, it barely took two strokes of Adaar’s powerful hand before Dorian was coming over the qunari’s stomach with a groan.

Breaths heavy he flopped forward into his own seed with little consideration. He needed contact, craved it, and Adaar supplied it without hesitation. Chests pressed together, an arm wrapped around him, hands caressing him gently, lips brushing his cheek. It was disgusting and filthy and everything he desired all at once.

“I’ve got a thing for little guys taking control.” Adaar chuckled after a little while.

“You don’t say.” Was Dorian’s sarcastic reply. “Lucky for you, almost everyone is ‘little’ in comparison.”

“Is it safe to assume that after that all is forgiven?” Adaar asked tentatively.

“Yes, it is safe for you to assume.”

They were quiet for a moment before Adaar asked, “Will you tell me what amatus means?”

Dorian pondered it for a moment before answering, “No, I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” That was the exact question he’d been dreading.

“Fine, I won’t”

“What if I offered you a trade?” Adaar questioned suggestively.

“Well I suppose that would depend entirely on what kind of trade you were to offer.”

“What if I told you the meaning of kadan?” Dorian would be lying if he said he hadn’t pondered the meaning of the word several times over. He could generalise its meaning, it was something along the lines of amatus, and he was sure that Adaar knew that. But still its true meaning eluded him.

“Tempting but as far as I’m aware it’s Qunlat, could I not just ask the Bull?”

“Well, yes, and I’m sure I could ask Krem. But, I want to hear it from you. So here’s the deal, you tell me what amatus means and I’ll give you the full meaning of kadan, one you can’t get from Bull.”

Lips set in a straight line he sighed as he finally gave in, “Fine, but you go first.”

Adaar’s thumb rubbed his head tenderly. “Qunari’s don’t form relationships like other races, there’s no marriage or love, but Kadan is what they call people they’re close to. It kind of means ‘where the heart lies’ or more simply put ‘my heart.’ My parents taught me Qunlat, and they sometimes called each other kadan… That’s not everything, but I’ll let you go.”

Dorian sighed again before answering, “Depending on who translates it amatus means ‘beloved’ or ‘my love’... Don’t go getting a big head.” He added when he saw the smile spreading across Adaar’s lips. “This isn’t some heartfelt confession.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“So what’s the full meaning?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” He asked tentatively.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Dorian mimicked.

“My name, its Kadan Adaar. My parents decided on it because I was the reason they ultimately left the Qun, I was where their hearts lay.”

“Thank you.” Dorian all but whispered.

“What for?”

“For telling me. You’ve never really mentioned your family before.” He urged.

“We’ve just fucked and now you want to talk about my family?” Adaar chuckled.

“I’d like to know.”

“Sure, why not. My father was Saarebas, a typical qunari mage, leashed and chained.”

“I can understand why he would want to escape the Qun.”

“Exactly. Tama on the other hand. She was Arvaarad, the ones who hold the leashes of the Saarebas. It was a military role, so she was forced to present as male, either that or choose another role, one more suited to her gender, being Aqun-athlok’s not as simple as Bull makes it sound with Krem.

“My father was always very persuasive, and very powerful, when Tama let down her guard one day he managed to overpower her, he had the chance to kill her, but he didn’t. He asked that she help him in his escape, and she agreed. They grew close, and he escaped with her secret aid, but she could not leave the Qun, even for its downfalls she was a Qunari, not Tal-Vashoth.

“That’s when I came into the picture. Turns out they’d grown _really_ close, she was pregnant with me and sooner or later the Tamassrans would find out. The Tamassrans they look after everyone, choose who you breed with, pick out your roles. My mother would not doubt be re-educated, and she had no way of knowing if the child she carried was Saarebas. An Arvaarad with a Saarebas child, that wouldn’t have gone down well, so she decided to run. She found my father after some time, he’d been bound and leashed almost his entire life, and he had little knowledge of how to survive in the wilds. They’ve been together since.

“She hates being Tal-Vashoth, and she blames me for it, I know she does.”

“I’m sorry.” He truly was, he knew sting of a parent’s resentment all too well.

“I have two sisters. Kost and Asala, both of them Warriors like Tama, they didn’t have another mage like me. I’m just happy my father named us; if it was left to Tama we would have been given roles when we turned of age. She called me Hissrad because of the tales I told, even from a young age. Imagine the odds, two qunaris in the inquisition and both of them Hissrads… they would never have let me be a Ben-Hassrath though, they would have bound me just like they did to my father. It’s ridiculous how the way you were born can screw you over... I guess I’m preaching to the choir.”

“I suppose I would know something of that, yes.” They were silent for a while after that. It would usually be Adaar who broke the silence with some ridiculous quip of his, but after a few minutes it never came. It was Dorian who eventually broke the quiet. “What would you prefer I called you?”

“I’d much prefer Adaar. Kadan can get rather embarrassing, if Bull found out I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

“I’m sure I can imagine.”

“And _you’re_ Kadan.” He stroked Dorian’ cheek with his thumb.

“You’re so sickly sweet I may just have to vomit.” He teased drawing a chuckle and a kiss from the qunari.

-

Voices pulled him from his sleep. As he came to a few things became evident. A dreamless night, the first in a while, he thanked the maker he hadn’t had a nightmare, it would have only caused more concern. The second realisation was that he was still tucked against Adaar, the duvet pulled up to his shoulders, face pressed against his neck, covered in small bruises. It was warm and comfortable, and he was more than tempted to snuggle into the warmth. But then there was of course the issue of the third realisation, the voices were very familiar, and very close.

He cracked an eye open, his vision landing on the qunari, and not the one in the bed. Bull stood in the room arms crossed over his chest, smile widening when he heard Dorian’s groan. Adaar’s arm tightened around him as he muttered, “This isn’t happening.”

“It sure is ‘Vint! Don’t worry, it was no surprise, Cole was giving me a running commentary last night.”

“He was not?!”

“Yep, don’t worry, when the two of you stopped bickering he calmed down.” Adaar chuckled as Dorian groaned against his chest.

“Soon the whole of Skyhold will know and we will never have had to breathe a word. Cole and flowers will do the work for us. Why are you in here? How did you get in here?! Why are you _still_ in here?!”

“You didn’t lock the door.” Bull answered as if it was a valid excuse. “It was a pretty urgent matter, we got word from one of Leliana’s crows, turns out the empress of Orlais is holding a ball, and we’ve been formally invited by the Duke who might want her dead. If we want to stop that future you saw we need to stop her from being assassinated during the festivities.”

“A ball?!” Dorian perked up slightly at the prospect. One thing he’d missed from his homeland was the gatherings. Although they almost always ended in disaster or blood magic or both, they were often a pleasant affair if you could sneak out before the inevitable ‘entertainment’. He’d enquired with Josephine about attending a ball in Lydes not too long ago, of course he’d been denied, but that was beside the point. He was raised for this.

“Yeah, Josie says we’ve got to get fitted for formal attire, apparently. Since we won’t be able to get back to Skyhold in time she’s already set us up with somewhere in Val Royeaux, the Ball is in 10 days and it’ll take 5 of those to get us there.”

“I pity them.” Adaar stated. “Do they realise they’re going to be fitting two qunari’s, a spirit and a fussy ‘Vint?”

Dorian gave him a light slap but agreed, “They’re going to have their work cut out.”

“Sure are.” Bull agreed.

“Now, Bull, could you do us a favour and _get out?!”_ He chuckled to himself as he left; narrowly avoiding the cushion that Dorian launched in his general direction.

“If it’s any consolation I tried to hide you when I heard him come barrelling through the door.” He ran his fingers gently through Dorian’s hair. “I think we need to have a talk about what we’re doing.”

“I’m sure, but for now it appears we have a ball to attend!”

He was excited about the prospect of returning to the life he was used to if only for a short while, decent wine, refined guests, an assassination or two, formal attire. It was just like being at home. As the ball drew ever closer his passion for it gradually dwindled, beginning with their fitting.


	13. Wicked Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The preparations for Halamshiral begin.

“No.” He was surprised to hear that it wasn’t his own voice protesting the frankly hideous inquisition uniform. His own robes had never quite been the fashion at home, he always had little alterations, the robes supplied by his parents and the circle always too gloomy; he was a mage, not an executioner.

Instead it was Adaar who folded his arms over his chest as he looked at the prototype red inquisition uniform. The tailor’s assistant argued in the thickest Orlesian accent Dorian had ever heard. “’Zis is ze exact uniform Lady Montilyet requested.”

The tailor himself had disappeared in a fit of rage upon discovering who he was fitting. If Adaar hadn’t been the Herald of sodding Andraste he may have been thrown from the store after the tailor had called him a savage (or alternatively if Dorian hadn’t lain a gentle hand on his arm Adaar may well have thrown the tailor from his own store). As it was no one in the store was strong enough to lift a qunari, let alone two, and Adaar _was_ thankfully the Herald.

So they were left, trying to explain to the assistant that they desperately needed the uniforms, and then they were shown this thrown together prototype. Cole was content to attend the ball in his usual attire, including his trusty hat; Dorian had a feeling no matter what occurred they could not peel the hat from the spirit.

“Lady Montilyet will get a surprise then.” Adaar replied curtly. “What’s the point in being ‘the Chosen One’ if they’re going to make us walk into Halamshiral dressed like that?”

“What did you have in mind?” Dorian asked in surprise.

“I’ve got something planed, so long as we can get the tailor to work with a couple of ‘savages’ and a ‘blood mage’.”

“Ze tailor…” The assistant began before checking over his shoulder. He continued in a whisper “’E will do almost anything if you remind ‘im zat zis is for ‘Alamshiral, and… I would also recommend reminding him that you are ‘is first business in two months, should he deny you…”

“Are you suggesting blackmail, Orlais is scandalous, even amongst the rabble they play their so called Game.” Dorian commented.

A smile pulled at Adaar’s lips. “I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”

-

Dorian had never been able to see Adaar as the Maker sent gift that many saw, sometimes he found it hard to see him as a man who had an army at his disposal. He had the capability (Dorian might even go as far as to call it a gift) to look as unthreatening as physically possible, despite being qunari.

However when he towered over the tailor, growling out the commands and threats Dorian caught a glimpse of the being that everyone was speaking of. It was strange, he thought, that he saw it then, rather than when he was on the battlefield hurling fireballs at the enemy (which he was becoming proficient at with the aid of his tutoring.) No the first time he thought he truly saw the Herald of Andraste they were towering over a pompous Orlesian man, demanding that dress suits be made for them, to _his_ desired specifications.

The angry letter from Josephine arrived a day later; Leliana’s birds were more than efficient. A second letter arrived only hours later, and from Adaar’s expression it was a lot kinder in its tone. “She’s authorised the changes, it’s a good job because I’ve already given them the go ahead.”

“They’re being made?” Dorian had never been shown any plans, only having his measurements taken. Even that had been a thrilling experience. Maker he was deprived, simple things such as being measured by a tailor bringing back fond memories. Then again he had done more than the necessary measuring on one occasion.

“Yeah, I designed them and they’re being made.”

He didn’t try to hide his groan as his head fell into his hands. “You’re joking?! _You_ designed them? The qunari who cuts his own hair with a knife, who wears plaid weave because it’s practical. _You_ designed them. Maker strike me down.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have a little confidence in me.”

“Do I at least get to see the designs?” It was barely a question; his hand already outstretched, expectantly waiting for the designs.

“No.”

“No?! You’re joking right?! You expect me to trust your intuition and walk into the Winter Palace wearing whatever it is you’ve thrown together, you realise I’ll have no time to make adjustments.”

“You’ll see it before we leave Val Royeaux, but not before it’s finished. I want it to be a surprise.”

“And I’m sure it will be, don’t take it personally, but based on your somewhat limited knowledge of what counts as fashion, I don’t trust it to be a wholly pleasant one.”

-

In their four days in Val Royeaux he had found anything to occupy his time, the capitol was magnificent, it could be said, but within a day it became terribly boring, and he found himself retiring to the grand library that resided in the centre of the city. It had taken a great deal of persuasion for him to be allowed to enter the building, not that it wasn’t open to the public, but it seemed the longer he spent in Orlais the more he uncovered just how much they hated Tevinter and its inhabitants. It would explain Mother Giselle’s attitude towards him, the fact that she had been raised in this city with its hatred of Tevinter. If only they realised that they reminded him of his home more than anything he had experienced in the south thus far.

Secrets, scandal, intrigue, a few blood mages and a slave or two and he’d right at home (only culturally, the architecture couldn’t hope to live up to that of Tevinter.)

When he finally convinced the keepers of the library that he had no intentions of corrupting the books with his magic (he imagined that a word from the inquisitor was also at hand) he wandered the library for hours. They had very little on mages, just like the stalls in the streets had very little _for_ mages, and he wonders how the mages of Orlais manage to survive, especially with the circles in ruins. How did Vivienne survive? They did however have a vast amount of history books, something he would divulge in, whilst avoiding most of the Chantry’s works. Though an Andrastian, he was not a fool, well, in many respects. It was all blatant propaganda, Chantry lies wrapped in falsehoods, and he little time for their ignorance.

He was surprised when after several hours in the library, books spread around him, a table to himself, a hand gripped his shoulder. He had heard the footsteps approaching, so the hand itself wasn’t much of a surprise, it was simply the inquisitor’s presence that surprised him. After giving his shoulder a light squeeze Adaar pulled up a seat on the opposite side of the table, dropping into it. From his height it must have been something akin to freefalling.

“Is there no library in Thedas where I can be free from you?” Dorian questioned, but there was a smile on his lips.

“I thought I would come and keep you company.”

“Four days, I thought I had managed to escape you… It’s alright a few people freed up this table moments after I sat down. You would think I smell the way they fled.” He looked pointedly at the few members of the Chantry, all bearing its crest, speaking in hushed whispers, eyes flicking over to him every now and again.

Before he truly had time to react the same hand that had squeezed his shoulder took his hand. When his mind finally caught up with the moment he snatched it back, looking down at Adaar’s hand with surprise.

“We’re in public.” He scathed in hushed tones, “This isn’t the Skyhold library, one or two people who already had their suspicion, this is different. I don’t want everyone in Orlais to know!”

“Shit.” The qunari mumbled, his hand receding. “Flowers, sorry.”

“Flowers?! What have flowers got to do with this?”

“Getting used to affection, I mean _my_ affection. I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking.” Dorian’s eyes wandered to the chantry members who were making no effort to hide their stares as they watched the exchange. “It’s just that I’m used to people staring, I’ve grown used to just giving them something to look at.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well I’m a qunari, people are going to look, there’s no way for me to hide. I’m just used to giving them something to look at whilst they’re staring. That and I’d quite like to hold your hand.”

“You are so ridiculously mushy. Hand holding in public, next you’ll be making calf eyes at puppies.”

“Dorian, may I hold your hand?” He asked, his palm outstretched.

“I’m- I don’t think-…”

“It’s ok to say no. According to Sera that’s all we qunari do.”

“You haven’t said no to any of my advances thus far.”

“That’s because I’m Tal-Vashoth.” He admitted with a wink. Dorian exhaled sharply through his nose, a gesture that could almost be considered a laugh. He withdrew his hand after Dorian had remained silent for a short while.

“I have no objection to this whole ‘give them something to look at’ business; I would love nothing more than to rub it into the faces of some pompous Orlesians, it’s just that I… You know I’m unused to affection being displayed so publically.”

“I understand… Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Your attire for the ball is complete. I was coming to-”

“Well why didn’t you tell me that sooner?!” He demanded to know as he rose from his feet, closing the book in his hands and depositing it in a cart. He ignored the fan of literature that had surrounded him. “I need to see this so I know whether I have to demand adjustments before the Ball.”

-

“It’s a surprise!” He had announced happily, much to Dorian’s dismay. It was already a surprise, he had no idea what to expect yet the qunari was still intent upon blindfolding him.

He already stood before the mirror, devoid of all clothing but some simple cream trousers, the only part of his uniform he had been allowed to see thus far. Had he known no better he would have assumed the inquisitor was hoping to have his way with him. As it was he was incredibly cold, and tired of waiting. If this was the game Adaar wanted to play then he would humour him for a short while.

“Fine. Blindfold me.”

Delicate fingers knotted the blindfold at the back of his head. He stumbled awkwardly, swearing occasionally as Adaar dressed him, pulling on boots, a jacket, gloves and finally a sash, before adding some finishing touches. “Are you quite done?”

“Yes. What I said earlier about giving people something to look at when they stare… well, Maker help me if I’m wrong.” He finally answered, whipping away the blindfold with one fluid movement.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did they were immediately drawn to the striking colours of his jacket, dark turquoise gradually leading into blue so dark it could rival the night sky, gold lined the whole ensemble. It was striking to say the least. Feathers adorned his shoulders and it was only when he saw exactly what feathers that he realised what he was.

“I’m a peacock.”

“I was looking up Tevene in the library,” Dorian stored that in the back of his mind for now, something he would enquire about later, “That’s what Pavus means right? I thought it fitting. They signify pride, as well as integrity. Did you know they can eat poisonous snakes without harm?”

“I did, mother used to keep them, an obligation to being a Pavus it seemed.”

“Do you like it?”

“It will turn heads, that’s for certain. But I’m sure that being a Tevinter mage would have done that anyway… The way you explain it, it’s perfect. Well, close, I mean if anyone else was wearing it I doubt it would be anywhere near as striking.

“You were so close to giving a compliment then; I thought we were on to something.”

“And you designed this… Did you design my robes?” Dorian asked suddenly. It was hard to part him from the emerald robes when they were traveling.

“Yeah.” He answered simply, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Oh the irony, the Tal-Vashoth who wears plaid weave is capable of designing attire such as this. Honestly the things you do should not surprise me anymore.”

“Vivienne had some input. I sent the designs back to Skyhold a few days ago so they could co-ordinate. Apparently she disapproved of the amount of belts and what I had planned for your gloves. Thankfully that wasn’t difficult at all to change.”

“So what is everyone else wearing? As much as I would pay to see bull or our dear commander dressed as peacocks, I doubt that’s a possibility.”

“Everyone’s got their own outfit. I let someone at Skyhold sort out Josie, Leliana and Cullen with just a little push in the right direction. The only thing that remains the same is the sash. Everyone has a blue one to show they’re part of the inquisition, that and we won’t be wearing masks.”

“I don’t know if I dare ask what you have lined up for the three of you.”

With a chuckle he answered, “Yours is the most striking. Bull’s is fairly simple, just tried to make it comfortable, I want his attention on the guests not how tight the pants are. Cole is, well I haven’t designed anything for Cole.”

“You don’t expect him to wear that ridiculous uniform?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t mind, he told me not to worry about it, and I said he can keep his hat on, I know he wouldn’t be happy otherwise. It’s not as if the nobles will remember seeing him anyway, it doesn’t really matter what he wears.”

“You’ve put quite a bit of thought into these…”

“Yeah. We need to put on an act, gain the courts approval, that’s my speciality, Hissrad, it means keeper of illusions. Not as good as Bull though, he’s had training.”

“You don’t need to act, just be yourself.”

A sad smile pulled at his lips. “Oh the irony, there’s only one reason you don’t wear masks in Tevinter. You’re already wearing them.”

He opened his mouth to disagree, but the words were empty, never leaving his tongue. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

“No I’m not; I was dick for saying that I’m sorry.”

“Can you dance?” The question obviously took Adaar by surprise. Even Dorian was not quite sure where the question came from.

“I guess. I’ve never had any formal classes, but how hard can it be?”

“You know in some gatherings stepping on a dignitary’s toe is enough to cause an execution. I imagine this will be one of those gatherings.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was. Take my hand.” He instructs, and he can see the smile creeping its way onto Adaar’s lips. He took his hand gently pulling them closer together; in this scenario he was happy to allow Adaar to take the male position. He’d never danced with anyone quite so tall, and though it did have its challenges, Adaar was far more competent than he had been anticipating.

“We should really talk about what it is we’re doing.”

“Dancing, I would have thought it was obvious.”

“You know I didn’t mean that.” With a sigh Dorian admitted defeat. In honesty he’d been expecting the conversation for the last four days, and was surprised it had taken this long. “I know we said about being foolish, but this feels like a lot more than just fun.”

“I mean it is fun, but yes I agree, it certainly feels like _something_.”

“Sure the whole sex part of it is pretty great, but I would like more than that, and you made it sound like you wanted that too, but I don’t want to push you away whilst trying to find it. Just let me know if you want me to stop.”

“What exactly would ‘more’ entail?”

“I guess, telling people, it seems Bull and Cole know, and Varric, and I’m sure Leliana knows…”

“No doubt, she seems to know everything going on in Skyhold, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had someone keeping an eye on us this very moment.”

Adaar shivered. “Don’t say things like that, I won’t be able to sleep at night.”

“What else does this great _relationship_ of yours entail?”

“Taking it slow, holding hands, cuddling, mushy stuff.”

“Holding hands and cuddling, next you’ll be suggesting something as preposterous as going on dates or some such nonsense.”

“What are you doing when we get back to Skyhold?”

“Whatever for?”

“A date.” He snorted and it was ridiculously unbecoming, but Adaar’s fingers squeezed his hand and lips brushed against his cheek, warm breath caressing his skin in a quiet laugh. He let his eyes fall shut, revelling in the attention he was receiving, like nothing he had grown used to.

“You know you are terribly dull, and I hate you.”

“Is that so?” Adaar asked but the smile still pulled at his lips, and Dorian wasn’t capable of shaking his own. “What can I do to make you change your mind?”

“Be less boring.” He stated simply.

Without warning Adaar dipped him, holding him in his arms as Dorian instinctively gripped onto his robes and a horn. “May I kiss you?”

“There’s nobody watching.” The smile widened as Adaar leaned in, pressing their lips together for a moment. “I’m not opposed to something more than fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [in case you're interested I drew Dorian in his attire on my tumblr!](http://sjinsbutt.tumblr.com/post/114055797418/i-wanted-to-do-the-design-for-all-of-the-party)


	14. Wicked Tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Ball begins, and everyone dons their masks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I haven't had much of an opportunity to look over this chapter and I'm uploading this whilst the hotel internet holds up, so sorry in advance if there are any mistakes.

The look on Josephine’s face had made him wish he could capture the moment and replay it later. Admittedly her own outfit was rather striking, but when the Inquisitor arrived towing a Tevinter peacock, a spirit in his usual hat, and a qunari who didn’t quite adhere to the Orlesian dress code, it made her white and gold dress pale in comparison. Her shock was however replaced very quickly by her usual commanding attitude as she began instructing them all in the required etiquette, before confiscating their weapons. Bull had been the one to grumble most at that, but eventually the lady convinced him it was for the best. Even then he visibly sulked.

It was arranged before they even arrived at the Winter Palace that they would all spread throughout the palace, keeping a close eye on guests and gossip. Dorian quickly found his position in the garden, there was a tray being carried around by an elf, constant being resupplied with various wines, and he had never been known for his ability to turn down a glass of wine. Especially not when it was Orlesian wine on offer, second only to Tevinter, naturally.

He ignored most of the eyes that wandered in his direction, smiling warmly at the few whose comments ruffled his feathers. It made him chuckle to himself when he remembered the feathers that adorned his shoulders, and he couldn’t be sure how much of his merriment was the free alcohol, and how much of it was down to being placed into a setting that he was actually used to. He wished he’d had something to eat before arriving though, something to absorb some of the drink, but instead he was forced to take tiny canapés from the elf that continued to circle.

He thought he had changed very little since joining the inquisition, but as he took three glasses of wine from the elf, balancing them all precariously in one hand, he caught the servant’s eye and smiled.  When her eyes widened in surprise he realised that these were servants of course, not completely unlike in Tevinter, but since then he had befriended elves (he used the word ‘befriended’ for lack of a better one, Solas was barely a friend and Sera was, well, barely an elf.) Next he’d be starting a slave rebellion, though he highly doubted that, if one had a death wish in Tevinter a sure fire way to end your life was to attempt to change the laws on slavery.

As the serving girl scurried away his eyes landed on the unmistakable form looming above every noble in attendance. He couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile pulling at his lips. The last time he had seen Adaar he had been left with the Duke Gaspard De Chalons, and Dorian had no way of determining what had occurred between then and now other than the hush whispers he’d heard, most of which focused on the horrifying fact that the Herald of Andraste was an ‘ox’. As Adaar approached him the flush on his cheeks became more obvious, as did the awkward way he shifted around every noble in sight.

He was close when Celene’s maidens stopped him. Dorian had been watching them intently for most of the evening thus far, they were a strange triplet, for all he knew they were related, but it was hard to tell with the ridiculous masks. All three of them moved and spoke in synchronisation; it was unnerving to say the least. Even as he hung back, he could hear the conversation that took place, clearly not meant to be a secret. Adaar was wearing his metaphorical mask, mirroring the graces of the three women, just as he had done when he had first joined the inquisition, and as such he received the blessing of the empress, indirectly.

When they sauntered away he turned to Dorian, the exasperation clear in his features.

“You look like you could do with a drink. Here I grabbed one for you.” Adaar took it gratefully, polishing off the flute in a few mouthfuls. “Now, now, this isn’t like the cheap garbage at Skyhold, you’re supposed to savour it.”

“Who’s the third glass for?”

“Me.” Dorian answered simply.

“Well then, who’s the first glass for?”

“Also me.”

A smile pulled at Adaar’s lips as the realisation dawned, “That kind of night?”

“You say that as if you haven’t also been taking the free hospitality for granted, I can smell the punch on your breath, you may want to tone it down ever so slightly, if you plan on ending this evening on your feet.”

“I’ve decided I hate parties.”

“Not a place for qunaris?”

“So I’ve been fucking told.” A few nobles gasped nearby and he rolled his eyes without even glancing in their direction.

“Yes, unfortunately it won’t be easy winning the Orlesian’s favours, especially when you start cussing like a sailor, it would be best to hold your tongue. They’re not particularly fond of your kin.” He commented before he downed one of the glasses, handing it to Adaar.

“Yeah but that’s nothing new, who is fond of the qunari? We’re either devout followers of the Qun, brain-washed machines, or we’re Tal-Vashoth, barbarians who rape and pillage, and its shit. Bull’s ready to wear a noble’s skull as a mask.”

“Now that _would_ be sight, but we will make very little progress if the two of you intend to act like the savages they expect you to be. Don’t give them the satisfaction… So, what’s the gossip?”

Adaar looked around briefly before ducking his head. “There’s blood inside, not sure why, and Celene has an Occult advisor of some description, apparently she’s fond of speaking to the dead.”

“A mage? I’ve been looking out for them myself, anything specifically Venatori.”

“I can’t assume they’re an enemy, but perhaps a necromancer like you, someone with ties to the dead. And Briala, the spymaster, she’s up to something, I’ve heard the elves whispering.”

“So we’re looking at a mage, an elf and a duke, who doesn’t enjoy a good murder mystery?”

“Hold your horses; she’s still alive and kicking. I assume at a Tevinter party they’d have done the deed by now.”

“Of course not. If this was a Tevinter party you’d have to have a few blood sacrifices first, the wine would be far superior, ah and of course my mother would be ever looming over my shoulder, criticising my manners.”

“What if your mother was actually here? Where would be then?”

“Short one mage, after he’s dragged out by his earlobe.”

“I’m having difficulty picturing that.”

“Then picture me a young boy of five years then, she certainly always has.”

“Things are rocky with your mother too?”

“I suppose. Things were never quite mother and son between us, but she _was_ my mother, even in the strange way she showed it.”

“Thank you for coming.” A soft smile touched the corners of his eyes and Dorian found himself melting slightly.

“And expose myself all this finery and exotic wines, such hardship. But you’d think I smelled of cabbages the way they wrinkle their noses, one woman attempted to approach me and it seemed that when she got within an acceptable distance she could finally read the giant ‘Tevinter’ I appear to have stamped on my forehead. It seems as though it’s as obvious as your horns.”

“Are you alright?”

“You don’t need to ask that every time I frown ever so slightly. It’s of no concern, but thank you. Are you?”

The question seemed to take him slightly off-guard. “I- yeah, I’m fine, the sooner this is over the better though… Could you perhaps create a minor distraction?”

“How minor, and why exactly?”

“I intend to climb that trellis and break into the library, and I don’t think the Orlesians would approve of such barbaric behaviour.”

“You are utterly ridiculous.”

“You’ve told me so a few times. On second thoughts, don’t bother; they’d probably disapprove more of your diversion than of my scaling the walls.”

“I’m not sure how offended I should be.” Dorian exclaimed in mock horror. “Do be careful, and hold off on the drink at least until we don’t need to worry about hidden assassins.”

“Are you worrying about my wellbeing?” He asked with a smirk, to which Dorian simply rolled his eyes. “Sure thing. You too.” He answered with a smile, though Dorian didn’t know how much he trusted his word at that moment.

In the grand scheme of things it was very little time before the inquisitor returned, Leliana in tow. Dorian had very few confrontations with the spy master, but he knew an awful lot about her, from sitting under her nesting spot, he imagined that she knew far more about him. Adaar barely entered the garden (the fact that he had never returned down the trellis allowed Dorian to assume the plan had worked and he’d made his way through the library) instead he stood in the doorway, twitching his head slightly in a gesture that was evidently a beckoning.

“What’s the matter?” He asked as he approached.

He received no reply, but noticed that Bull was also in tow, standing a few feet away but watching intently, he could also sense that strange tingling that set his nerves on edge and made his hair stand straight, Cole was here too.

“Servant’s quarter.” Was Adaar’s simple reply, as they followed in silence.

When they opened the door to the quarters it became immediately obvious why their attentions had been required, the air reeked of death, and as they rounded the corner the source became apparent.

“Well, shit.” Bull not so eloquently stated.

“You can say that again.” Dorian murmured, struck by the sight of the massacre. He wished he could say he hadn’t seen something like this before, elves slaughtered where they stood, serving staff killed for simply being.

Without further instruction needed Bull grabbed one of the kitchen knives brandishing it like a weapon, no doubt the killers were still within the vicinity. Cole followed his lead, Adaar also tentatively taking a knife.

“Shit.” Adaar hissed. “We don’t have staves, and I haven’t used a blade since-… It’s been a while.”

“Not exactly my style either.” Bull admitted, turning over the knife. “More like a butter knife in comparison to my axe.”

“I guess it’s a good job you’ve been practising then.” Dorian enthused proudly. At least the qunari could use some of his magic. “And Bull, I’m sure you’ve used worse.”

“Sure have, but I’d rather not possibly face some crazy Vints with a blunt knife.”

“That is all we can acquire for now.” Leliana stated, cutting the conversation with one sentence as she lifted her dress, pulling a blade as long as Dorian’s forearm from her boot. As the men watched in surprise she dropped her dress and marched ahead.

Bull took a deep breath before sighing, “Gotta love redheads.”

“I-I’m a redhead.” Adaar stated cautiously as he watched Bull stride after the spymaster, followed closely by the spirit. Clearly they were moving forward. It couldn’t come quick enough, the room was humid and the death still clung in the air. Cole hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the room and he couldn’t imagine it was for a positive reason.

The kitchen backed onto the royal gardens and Dorian was more than pleased to be out in the fresh air, no matter how cold the Orlesian air was. Even outside of the room it appeared they could not escape the death, whilst nobles drank and spoke in riddles, servants were being slaughtered, massacred, and he had to wonder, how many parties had he attended, unaware of what was truly occurring. Of course there were the obvious sacrifices, the ones he often joked about, but this… It all sounded so wrong when he thought of it like that, how many elves lost their lives in the Imperium?

“Spot the odd one out.” Bull muttered as Dorian drew closer, the five of them crowded around one body, face down on the cobbles, a knife protruding from their back. A member of the council of heralds.

“Is that the Chalons family crest?” Dorian asked as he inspected the knife. “Gaspard what have you been doing?”

“I guess it’s time to have a word with-” Adaar began before being cut off by screams.

They all reached for weapons they didn’t have as the elven girl ran into the gardens screaming for help but it was too late for their aid. They could only watch as the harlequin dug it’s blades into the girl. A blade flew at the masked assassin, but in a whirlwind of smoke they vanished, appearing on a balcony two floors above them, the knife instead lodging into the skull of a Venatori agent following behind.

Thankfully there was only few in the group, a well-placed fireball sent them flying, and whilst they were picking themselves up Leliana and Cole had more than enough time to target two of them, leaving one final agent. Bull’s knife was now lodged in a skull, which he was trying to retrieve without bringing the entire body. Adaar’s magic surprised even Dorian, he’d been training alongside him for the past weeks, and had been expecting one of the elements they’d been focusing on, perhaps fire or ice, instead the air crackled, a boulder pulled seemingly from the fade hitting the Venatori agent dead in the chest, knocking him to the ground once he had regained his footing from the fireball. Giving up on the blade Bull threw the body aside, snapping the mage’s neck before they could regain their footing.

“Two mages, a brute and a stalker.” Dorian commented as he looked over the bodies. “It appears we’re in luck.”

Their luck ran out almost immediately after Dorian and Adaar switched staves, the qunari taking the heavier veridium staff, whilst Dorian settled with lazurite. They were incredibly weak by most mages standards, but they could survive with them for now. Almost as soon as they were equipped the reinforcements arrived, and these were far more prepared for a fight.

They went down easy enough, despite being an advisor Leliana was more than handy with a blade, and even more useful with a bow when she managed to pluck one from an archer. Actually, Dorian thought happily, perhaps this would prove to be one of their easier missions, wine, finery, Venatori dropping like dead flies. They had made their way to the second floor of the apartments; a trail of bodies in their wake, only one agent remained, attempting to flee. Leliana readied her bow but before she could loose an arrow a knife lodged itself in the Venatori’s skull, surprising them all.

The woman that stepped delicately over his body could almost be mistaken for one of the serving staff, had it not been for her mask, she too was playing the game the Orlesian’s were so very fond of.

“Fancy meeting you here. You must be Inquisitor Adaar; I thought you’d be more… impressive. We haven’t been properly introduced, I’m ambassador Briala.”

“’Ambassador’ is it? Ambassador of what, exactly?”

“If the nobility is going to treat the elves as if we are not citizens, we may as well have the trappings of a foreign power… I see you’ve cleared this place out, it will take months to get the Tevinter blood out of the marble.” Dorian couldn’t help but noticed the way her eyes wandered to him for a moment, even hidden behind that mask. Did he truly have it written upon his forehead?

“I came down to save or avenge my missing people but you seem to have done the job for me.” She continued, wandering onto the balcony where they had last seen the harlequin. “So… The councils of heralds’ emissary in the courtyard, was that you’re doing?”

“I found him like that.” Adaar stated simply.

“I expected as much, you have arrived with the duke but you don’t seem to be doing his dirty work. I knew he was smuggling in chevaliers, but killing a council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight.”

“Then surely Celene needs to be warned.”

“You can try. She won’t believe anything from me.” She sighed. “I misjudged you inquisitor, you might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? Think about it.”

“You know how to make a sales pitch, I’ll give you that.”

“I would bet coin that you will be a part of the peace talks by the end of the night, and if you happen to lean a bit our way… It could prove advantageous to both us.” She suggested, before jumping nonchalantly from the balcony.

As soon as she was gone Bull chuckled to himself, “This is great even the _elves_ are trying to bribe you.”

“I know.” Dorian added, “There is so much conniving and backstabbing here it almost makes me feel a bit home-sick.”

The inquisitor ignored them both, instead turning to Leliana. “Thoughts?”

“There are… rumours, about Briala’s involvement with empress Celene, it is whispered that they were lovers, but Celene ignored Briala’s demands and the elves of Halamshiral, and as such they parted. It is believed there is more to the tale but Orlais enjoys secrets, and Briala’s own network of spies has proved, troublesome, for inquisition forces.”

“She’s still hung up on her.” Bull announced.

“How do you know?” Adaar asked, but before the words could escpae Bull’s open mouth Adaar continued, “Let me guess, Ben-Hassrath?”

“Nope, Cole was whispering.”

The spirit looked rather pleased with himself as he smiled from under his hat, “Betrayed and betrayal, but still longing, missing. Celene misses her too.”

“Good job Kid, that could certainly be useful.”

“For now though, we should head back to the ballroom before it is obvious we are missing.” Leliana urged. “There is still much to be done.”


	15. Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is the betrayer? Who's the killer in the crowd? The one who creeps in corridors, and doesn't make a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you so so much for the kudos and comments and everything! I usually dreadful when it comes to completing series, but with this one I've been keeping ahead. (Also I promise they're going to be happy)

They all made their way back to the ballroom, arriving separately so as not to raise suspicion, but as Dorian entered the room he could already see Leliana and Cullen conversing and Bull casually chatting with Josephine, though he imagined the conversation wasn’t as casual as it appeared. Adaar had hung back, no doubt sneaking throughout the palace some more whilst he had the chance.

When he eventually entered the room, he snuck close to Dorian, trying not to draw attention to himself though he had never been one for subtlety. Though nobody could have heard him as he whispered “I found the mage.”

“Did you see what that marquis is wearing?” Dorian asked gesturing vaguely to one of the nobles, though he nodded to signify that he had in fact heard Adaar’s comment. “That suit is a greater crime than anything we’re looking for.”

“Ever the critic.” Adaar said with a smile. “Anyway, don’t go wearing yourself out mingling, I expect a dance before this is over.”

“Dancing with the evil magister in full view of every noble in Orlais? How shocking.”

“You’d dance with the savage Tal-Vashoth in full view would you? You know I think they’d live to tell the tale.”

“You say that now, but if you can find me ten silk scarves, I know a dance that would _really_ shock them.”

“You know you’re going to have to show me that later.”

“Find the scarves and I might just.”

“If that’s a promise then I will most-”

“Inquisitor Adaar?” An Orlesian accent interrupted. They both turned to look at the woman approaching them. More than just a noble, Dorian thought, her attire and the way she held herself screamed just as much, she was something important, and she was very aware. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne De Chalons. Welcome to my party.”

“Is there something I can do for you, your grace?” It was visible, the shift from Adaar to mirror, the straightening of his back, hands clasped together, voice slipping into more eloquent patterns. It was fascinating to watch.

“Indeed you can. I believe that tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of… A certain person. Come dance with me, spies will not hear us on the dancefloor.”

“Very well, shall we dance, your grace?”

Adaar bowed his head graciously before following. ‘Spies will not hear you’ Dorian doubted that highly, he knew a couple of spies who would probably be very interesting in hearing what the Duke’s sister had to say, but he decided to go with the least problematic option, there was already one qunari on the floor.

“Ah, Leliana, my darling.” She turned away from Cullen with a slight smile pulling at her lips, she had not been expecting an interruption.

“You are beginning to sound like Madame De Fer.” She chuckled.

Dorian laughed quietly as he extended his hand in invitation. “Could I persuade you to dance with me?”

Leliana’s face showed no confusion, complete placid (the antithesis of their dear commander whose confusion was evident in his ever so handsome features) but her eyes flicked to the dancefloor for a moment before she smiled. “They teach you well in Tevinter?”

“When I often share the company of a qunari spy, a mind-reading spirit and a prying dwarf I have to learn to hold my own.”

“I am no fool, Dorian, you have found your nest below mine, it would not surprise me if you knew as much of Skyhold as I.”

“Perish the thought; I am but a mage from Tevinter, here to aid the inquisition. Why should I know every little secret?”

“The inquisitor trusts you, and I do not believe that is foolish.”

“Is this your round-about way of saying you trust me?” Dorian asked as they finally set foot on the ballroom floor.

“Perhaps.” She answered with a smile.

It seemed as if his whole life thus far had been training in preparation for this moment, being able to hold his wine, dance classes in all matter of waltzes and tangos he never understood the need for, etiquette lessons both formal and from his mother’s sharp tongue. Now he stood, having lost count of the glasses of wine he had consumed, dancing with a spy master in the Orlesian palace. If an assassin popped up at that moment it truly would have put all of his lessons into practice.

Instead it remained civil, as he and Leliana danced ever closer to the Duchess and Adaar. He would not admit that he was keener to ensure Adaar’s safety than to uncover intrigue. The lummox could get himself killed in an exchange such as this. He wore his mask well, but Dorian knew he wasn’t a player in the Orlesian’s game, not truly.

“… Have been everywhere in the palace…” Were the first words Dorian heard from their conversation. So Adaar was doing just as well as Dorian had anticipated, and his sneaking had not gone unnoticed. Of course, he was not built for sneaking. “You are a curiosity to many, inquisitor… And a matter of concern to some.”

“Am I the curiosity or the concern to you, your grace?”

“A little of both, actually. This evening is of great importance inquisitor, I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even know you who is friend and who is foe? Who in this court can be trusted?”

“An excellent question, I might ask the same of you, your grace.”

“In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone. It cannot have escaped you notice that certain parties are involved in dangerous machinations this evening.”

“I thought ‘dangerous machinations’ were the national sport of Orlais.” Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the inquisitor’s subtle stabs.

Then the voices faded away, and the crowd cheered as the inquisitor and Duchess made their way from the dancefloor, arm in arm, there was a pang of jealousy that took him off guard for a moment.

“The inquisitor trusts you, but do you trust him?” Leliana asked, drawing Dorian’s attention away from Adaar.

“He’s been named the Herald of Andraste herself, how can you not trust a man with a title like that?” Dorian thought it would do little good to tell the truth, to explain that though he trusted the inquisitor most; Tevinter had taught him there was no-one you could wholly trust.

“But do you trust him with everything?” She questioned as they bowed to one another, prepared to leave the ballroom floor.

“That would depend what ‘everything’ entailed.”

“Your heart.” She answered as she sauntered away to where the inquisition had congregated. That woman knew far too much for his liking.

Cullen’s was the first voice he heard, “I hope that’s good news?”

“The Grand Duchess told me there’s proof that Gaspard is behind the Venatori, but I don’t trust her as far as Cole could probably throw her.”

“She’s more cutthroat than I realised.” Leliana added. “Offering up her own brother.”

“Warning Celene is pointless.” Josephine admitted, though Briala had already informed them of as much. “She needs these peace talks to succeed, and fleeing would mean admitting defeat.”

“Then maybe we should let her die.” Leliana suggested bluntly.

“What do you mean?!” Adaar asked, the mask had disappeared, his surprise evident. “We saw the future; you have no idea the mayhem this could cause.”

“What Corypheus wants is chaos, even with Celene alive, that could still happen.” Leliana explained. “To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t have to be Celene, she’s right.” Cullen added.

“I can’t decide this, not yet at least.”

“You must, inaction is a decision, inquisitor.” Leliana prompted. Dorian could see the discomfort, the curling of fists, the tight line of his lips; this was another life in his hands, another life that he didn’t want to have to make the decision for.

“Florianne said the mercenary captain is in the royal wing, and he knows everything about the assassination. She might as well have well told me it’s a trap, it reeks of it, but it’s all we have right now.”

“It _could_ be a lead.” Josephine suggested. “Either way it will surely reveal _something_. You should investigate.”

“In that case, I need access. And in the meantime, Cullen, I suggest you get the soldiers into position.”

“At once. Be careful, inquisitor.”

-

“You three were awfully quiet back there.” Adaar complained as they made their way through the royal wing.

“Their words would have only caused more hurt.” Cole sighed, and Dorian couldn’t be sure but he thought the spirit sounded angry about it. “They think it easier to let her die.”

“That’s what I was expecting.” Adaar grumbled.

“Come on boss, the Duke has an army, and he’s already said he would put it to use for the inquisition, it’s just simpler this way.”

“You say ‘this way’ like I’ve already given up, and I’m going to let her die. Dorian, you think I should just let her be killed?”

“Well, I wouldn’t-” His sentence was cut short as a scream ripped through the air. There was so much screaming about this place, how did they ever manage to keep their assassinations secret? Then again he was thankful for the interruption, or at least he would be, when the owner of the screams was found.

He barely had enough time to catch it, following Adaar through one of the doors, as the qunari ran towards the harlequin on the other side of the room. Magic completely forgotten he instead opted to put his foot into their chest very forcefully, expelling them through the window, their cry quieting as they drew further towards the ground.

“Nice.” Bull mumbled under his breath and Dorian could tell that he was actually pleased with the outcome.

The girl (one of the servants and if Dorian was to guess, also one of Briala’s people) who’d screamed sat on the floor, evidently shaken by the event. “Thank you.”

“Are you alright?” Adaar asked, bending so as not to intimidate the elf further, but it did little help, he was still at least twice her size.

“I’m… I- I don’t think I’m hurt. No one’s supposed to be here… Briala said… Ugh, I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

“So Briala sent you?” Dorian asked.

“Not personally. The ‘Ambassador’ can’t be seen speaking with the servants. We get coded messages at certain points but they all came from her. She’s been watching the grand duke all night, no surprise she wanted someone to search his sisters room.”

“So this is Florianne’s room?” Adaar asked, looking around inquisitively, his title suited him for all of a moment.

“It used to be, this has been the Grand Duchesses room in Halamshiral since she was a child. But this part of the palace was damaged, and the family moved to the guest wing. Briala probably knew it was dangerous to come here and sent me anyway. One more embarrassing secret erased. I knew her, before, when she was Celene’s pet. Now she wants to play revolution, but I remember, she was sleeping with the empress who purged our alienage.”

“Would you testify to that?” Adaar asked.

“Absolutely, if the inquisition will protect me.”

“Rumours do always hold some truth, but most Orlesian’s would think that Celene’s scandal, not Briala’s.” Dorian commented.

“We’ll protect you, go to the ballroom and find Commander Cullen.”

“Thank you, Maker protect you.” She called as she ran from the room.

“I’d prefer it if we didn’t have to stick a knife in the Empress.” Dorian stated when Adaar strode away without another word. “But this isn’t like last time, _you’re_ not sticking the knife in her.”

“So you think I stuck the knife in Hawke?!”

“No! I just mean it’s a simple yes or no, whatever comes of tonight we simply have to ensure that there is order, you heard Leliana. Unfortunately there will be sacrifices along the way, but it is all for the good of Thedas.”

“I know but like I’ve said before, I don’t like making these decisions, I don’t like-”

It seemed the odds of them finishing a sentence that night were not in their favour, as someone cried, “You painted Orlesian arseholes! When I get out of this, I’ll butcher you like the pigs you are!”

Ever the hero, Adaar crashed through the door beside them, stopping immediately as the archers strung their bows, completely surrounding the four of them. Far more worryingly, the air tingled with magic, the fade was open, the signature green light leaking from a rift, not quite open enough to be spitting out demons. “Shit. I knew this was a trap.”

“Inquisitor, what a pleasant surprise!” A female voice called. Dorian could see the way the anchor flickered, even through Adaar’s glove, brought to life by the rift before them. “You’re such a challenge to read, I had no idea if you’d take the bait.”

“Florianne, I fear I’m a bit busy at the moment, if you were looking for a dance partner.” He retaliated sarcastically.

“Yes what a pity. It is a shame you could not save one final dance for me. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was growing tired of your meddling.”

“Well you know me, always eager to please.” He chuckled.

“Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“So let me guess, Corypheus promised you what, power, Orlais, Thedas, the world? It’s always the same with you people.”

“When I deliver South Thedas-”

“I’ve defeated Corypheus at every turn, I think he’s used to defeat by now. Would it be too much to ask, for you to, say, turn yourself in?”

“What a foolish idea, one I would not even consider. In their darkest dreams, no-one would imagine that I would kill Celene myself. All I have to do to succeed is keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball inquisitor. They’ll be talking of it for years.”

“You won’t get away with this.” He hissed.

“But inquisitor, I almost have. Kill him, and bring me his marked hand…”

Dorian didn’t hear her last words, Adaar speaking to them as she strode away. “Do you trust me?”

“Sure thing boss.” The Iron Bull answered tentatively.

“Yes.” Cole muttered.

Leliana’s conversation from early replayed in his mind. Did he trust him? Could he truly and honestly say yes? “Perhaps.”

Adaar hadn’t waited for Dorian’s answer before he ripped open the rift, the mark on his hand emanating green energy. Some of the archers screamed as demons poured from the open tear, slaying the Orlesian soldiers where they stood. Now this they could handle. Demons were always clear in their intent, and they’d mastered the art of ensuring they never completed their task.

When the courtyard was clear, Adaar closed the rift, as dramatic as always, before turning to Dorian with a scowl. “ _Perhaps_?!”

“You put me under an awful lot of pressure; I had no idea what you were planning.”

“Still it would have been nice to have some support.” There was no anger in his voice, and Dorian would have preferred anger to the dejectedness, he would have much preferred it if they hadn’t had this conversation all together.

Dropping the conversation Adaar strode towards the guard, tied to one of the columns that surrounded the garden. “Andraste’s tits were those demons?”

“Yep, those _were_ definitely demons.”

“Maker bless me! Demons? How could there be demons in the fucking winter palace?! I knew Gaspard was a bastard but I don’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill.”

“Gaspard led you out here then?”

“Well his sister, but it had to come from him, didn’t it? I mean all that garbage she was spewing-”

“That _garbage_ might just get some people killed, this isn’t over some unsettled bill. Aren’t you one of Gaspard’s mercenaries, it seems like tying you to a pole and feeding you to demons would be the opposite of helpful.”

“Yes, he wanted to make a move on the palace tonight, but he didn’t have enough of them fancy Chevaliers. Hired me and my men instead.”

“Shit, he _was_ going to attack tonight. So much for their _peace_ talks. Would you be willing to state that if I called upon you?”

“I owe you, and that bastard still hasn’t paid me. You want me to talk to the empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song, I’ll do it.”

“Andraste’s arse.” Adaar sighed. “Everyone, _everyone_ in this palace is looking to kill someone; for once can’t we do something nice where everyone doesn’t die?”

“If that were the case we wouldn’t have a job.” Bull offered, and it seemed to calm Adaar, if only slightly.

“And right now we have a job, and little time to spare.”

-

They ran as hard and as fast as they could, striking at Venatori agents along the way, pushing past nobles in the Vestibule, until they crashed through the doors of the ballroom. They were covered from head to toe in blood, human and demon, and perhaps some qunari in the case of Adaar and Bull, much to the horror of some nearby nobles.

When it became apparent that nobody had made an attempt on the empresses life Adaar’s shoulders dropped, his back straightening. His mask had returned, surely not a good sign.

“Thank the maker your back!” Cullen sighed pushing towards them. “The empress will begin her speech soon, what shall we do?”

“I wish to speak with Florianne.”

“What?! There’s no time, the empress will begin her speech any moment.”

“Commander.” Dorian interjected as Adaar walked past Cullen in a way that was not his, nor was it anyone’s at Skyhold. “I believe the inquisitor has a game to complete with Florianne.”

“But we need to make a decision.”

“I believe he has.”

“Your grace.” Adaar called, loud enough that the entire room could hear. “I believe we owe the court one more show.” The whole room quieted as Florianne turned, and Dorian could not help himself, pushing through Orlesians so he may have a front row seat. So that he could ensure Adaar’s safety, of course. “The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us your grace, remember to smile. This is _your_ party, after all.”

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you inquisitor?”

“I think you’re just about as delighted to see me, as I am to see you. After all, the last time we saw each other, I recall you saying ‘All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.’ Or am I perhaps thinking of another Grand Duchess?”

She was silent speechless, even with her mask on it was clear she was faltering. “When your archers tried to kill me, I feared you wouldn’t save me one, last, dance. Because I knew Florianne, even as we danced together, you had already framed your own brother for the murder of a council emissary.”

“You framed me?!” Gaspard asked in horror.

“That’s not everything, though, is it? Celene, Gaspard, the Heralds council… All of your enemies under one roof.”

“This is all very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?” Even as she spoke her voice faltered, weak, she of all people knew Adaar spoke the truth.

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.” Celene announced.

She was truly desperate now, and though it was somewhat uncomfortable to watch the Duchess be turned away by every member of her family, as she begged them to see her lie as truth, guards gripping her, it meant no-one would be assassinated tonight.

“You lost the Game, your grace. You’re just the last to find out… Now, your Majesty, I believe we need to speak in private.”


	16. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a very brief reference to implied self-harm and an even briefer reference to suicide in this chapter, just as a heads up. Also though it seems to head in a NSFW direction it's just fluff, no sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to add this note here as well as posting about it on my tumblr because holy hell this hit 200 kudos today?! I can't believe it, this being my second works in the fandom, thank you all so much for your support! Here's to 16 more chapters! (That's a joke sweet maker I think 16 more would just kill me)

Celene would continue on the thrown, but most importantly nobody would die, just as the inquisitor had wanted.

Adaar leaned over the balcony, looking out at the mountains behind the Winter Palace. Dorian had been watching him for some time, conversing with a woman whose image would not look out of place next to the dictionary definition of ‘witch’. She was not an old crone in a pointy hat but there was still something distinctly witch-y about her, that Dorian couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The moment she left the balcony Dorian approached, steadying his steps. Once it had been announced they had achieved their happy ending, he’d taken full advantage of the free hospitality. “There was an ancient dowager looking for you. She said she had twelve daughters! I told her you’d left already. You can thank me later or now.”

“’Perhaps’?”

“Does that mean later?”

“You didn’t trust me, did you?”

“It’s… Complicated.”

“Dorian, I’m trying to understand, I really am, but there just comes a point…”

Dorian sighed as he too leaned against the banister. “I trust you most amatus, of anyone I’ve ever known, but I’ve learnt that trusting anyone is foolish, and liable to get you hurt. Especially when you believe that person would never hurt you. They sting the most, because you’d never expect it. Trust me, I am trying to do this whole ‘relationship’ business, it just doesn’t come naturally.”

“Can’t we-… I don’t know? I keep on asking if we can be something more and it never comes. I just wish I knew you were on my side.”

“If it’s any consolation I’m certain I frustrate myself just as much. It appears that’s not the only thing troubling you?”

“I’m just worn out, tonight has been… long.”

“You won. You saved the day, literally the day is saved! You should be celebrating, enjoying yourself whilst you can.”

“You think I haven’t been enjoying the free drinks, everyone wants to make a toast to the qunari that saved the day. You know they’re calling me a qunari now, not ‘savage’ or ‘ox’.”

“A vast improvement for their incredibly simple minds! You know what you need is a distraction, and I swear you promised me a dance.”

A smile pulled at his lips as he rose rather unsteadily. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Thank goodness one of us has a little initiative.” They clasped hands and laughed as neither of them could quite figure out where to put their feet, but soon they were swaying drunkenly, laughing as they leant on one another for support, Dorian having pulled the short straw in his efforts to hold up both his own weight and a qunari.

“Do you think they’d give us a bottle of wine to take back to the quarters?” Adaar mused.

“For the man who saved Orlais, why I imagine you could at least get two bottles!” He jested.

“Then what the fuck are we still doing here?” He asked with a laugh, gripping Dorian’s hand, pulling him back around the edge the ballroom.

As it turned out they were more than willing to hand over their supply to the inquisitor, rather unaware it was only the two of them, and not the entirety of the inquisitions forces. They laughed like misbehaving teenagers as they ran away with five bottles. The least Orlais could do was give them something for the journey back.

When they eventually found Adaar’s suite, tumbling inside with a bottle already demolished, Adaar placed the wine on the desk, making his way onto the balcony. Of what little Dorian had seen of his room before the ball, Adaar’s was far more impressive, and he would not object to staying the night in this room instead of his own.

The night air was cool, but the alcohol and Adaar’s arms were sufficient in warming him. Lips pressed together in the night air, now it was truly a party, extraordinarily drunk and falling into another mans bed, a ball wouldn’t be complete without it. The key difference was Adaar wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t hiding Dorian as they kissed on the balcony. Adaar _was_ more.

A laugh interrupted them from down below. Two nobles one male, one female, stumbling through the garden below, looking about as drunk as Dorian felt.

Adaar growled, “That bastards been taunting me all evening, all because I got some of the wines mixed up.”

“He has? Isn’t he the marquis with the horrendous suit?”

“Yeah, I just wish I could punch him.” Adaar grumbled but a slight smile pulled at his lips, remembering Dorian’s earlier comment no doubt.

“Now, now, don’t stoop to his level.”

“He was making comments he thinks I’m ‘far too uneducated’ to understand. Telling me exactly what he wants about ‘my savage race’.”

“Has he now?!” Dorian asked, and he could feel the rage flaring. As he leaned over the railing Adaar gripped his waist. “Hey, you!”

The two drunkards stopped in the garden looking for the source of the voice. “Moi?”

 “Yes you, you- you pompous Orlesian twat!” Adaar snorted, as Dorian continued to shout, words slurring. “You- You wouldn’t know the difference between a sauvignon Blanc and shiraz viognier if I came and punched you in the fucking face!”

“Ok, first of all.” Adaar began. “You said I’m not allowed to swear at Orlesians, and second of all its if ‘it’ came and punched you in the face.”

“No. The ball is over, we can do as we wish. You hear that!” He called to the marquis, Adaar sniggering behind him. “The ball is over and if I come down there I am going to punch your smug face for him! And, and! You’re outfit is hideous, Vivienne would be appalled, the only assassination this evening was on fashion, you Serah, _you_ killed it!”

“How does it feel knowing a _savage_ has more fashion sense than you?!” Adaar called through his laughter.

“Herald?!” The man asked in surprise as Adaar too leaned over the balcony, gesturing rudely to the marquis.

The horror on his face, visible from even their height was more than enough to send them both into a fit of giggles, crumpling into a giggling mess on the balcony; Adaar wrapped his arms around Dorian as they both laughed. As the final chuckles still broke from them they shared most of a second bottle, chuckling occasionally in their drunken stupor.

“Some people in Tevinter would have us stoned for this.” Dorian sighed.

“You really know how to sap the fun out of something, is it a Tevinter thing?” Adaar asked but he continued to chuckle.

“No, it is not a Tevinter thing! Or… maybe it is. But I was simply stating that I could never have hoped to cuddle on a balcony with a qunari.”

“Was that always one of your lifetime aspirations? _Dorian’s 50 things to do before the world ends,_ number 27: cuddle a qunari on a balcony… You look beautiful in the moonlight.”

“I look beautiful in most lights.”

“You try and pay a man a compliment.” He sighed.

“You also look very handsome.”

“But..?”

“What do you mean ‘but’? _You try and pay a man a compliment._ ”

“There’s always a ‘but’. For a qunari, but not as handsome as me, the list goes on.”

“You look handsome. No buts.”

“Well, I mean maybe your butt, it’s very nice and I don’t think I could-” Adaar received a light slap, and a quick kiss. “Come to bed.”

“So you can have your wicked way with me?” He asked as they both climbed unsteadily to their feet.

“No.” Adaar replied even as he began to undo the clasps on Dorian’s jacket.

“You don’t want your way with me?”

Pushing away Dorian’s jacket he answered, “I just want _you_.”

He trailed kisses over every visible inch of Dorian’s skin, pulling him to the bed and pushing off every item of clothing, until they sat naked in each other’s arms, kissing and holding. Hands ran over his skin as if they wanted to remember every curve of his body, slow steady, lips following. They ran over scars, and questioned him, a small burn from when he first discovered his magic, most scars newer, from his time with the inquisition.

His own hands ran over Adaar, exploring pale scars and bruises (thankfully the ones on his neck from ten days ago had disappeared completely.) All told small stories too, his first fireball, his first mission in the Hinterlands, a particularly large gash over his hip was apparently the result of wrestling a wyvern, and Dorian could only roll his eyes in disbelief.

It was inevitable that Adaar’s fingers would eventually pass over the scars on Dorian’s wrist, but he seemed as if he was purposefully saving them for last. When Dorian didn’t immediately tell the story Adaar’s voice was barely more than a breath close to his ear, “Who?”

“Who?”

“Who did this?”

He pulled away for a moment and he could see the pain in Adaar’s eyes and he knew exactly what he was thinking. The scars were straight lines across his wrist; they were done with precision, with intent. “It wasn’t me. Trust me this would not be my method.”

The qunari breathed a sigh of relief before the pain returned to his features. “Then who did this to you?”

“I-I honestly don’t know. It was for the ritual, I didn’t stick around to find out who they were.”

“The ritual? You mean the blood ritual your father planned? I thought you found out about it and left?”

“I found out by waking up pinned to the ground with my wrist slit.”

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, his lips pressing against the pale scars. “You’re safe now.”

“I know.” Dorian tried to reply in his usual sarcastic tone, but it caught in his throat.

“You are so beautiful, so devastatingly beautiful. Every inch of you inside and out, and I will never ask you to change.”

Eyes stinging Dorian tried his hardest to fight back the tears that threatened. “That’s not fair, I’ve been drinking all evening, I’m emotionally compromised.”

Taking the mages face in his hands Adaar smiled, “You are so frustrating, so _so_ frustrating, but I would not change you for the world.”

“Nor would I change you.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Perhaps that haircut of yours, you realise scissors were invented an age ago? You don’t need to use a knife.”

“That’s my Dorian, ever the critic.”

“ _Your Dorian,_ am I?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, not as much as I would have expected. I- I wouldn’t change anything, not really, not even your crooked hair… You know I hate you.”

“The feelings mutual.” Adaar chuckled as their lips pressed together pulling him under the sheets, wrapping them tightly around him. It was warm and comfortable as always, though he had grown up used to a bed fit for a king he was finding he could certainly get used to this arrangement, tucked tightly against Adaar’s side. As a matter of fact he was finding he preferred it.

-

He was awoken suddenly by loud noises, most obvious of all a voice. The way the body beside him jerked, Adaar had also been awoken by the commotion.

“You were snoring.” The qunari muttered as he drew in closer, wrapping his arm around Dorian lazily.

“I do not snore.” He replied half-heartedly. His head was pounding. “How much did we drink?”

“So much.” Adaar chuckled rubbing his nose against Dorian’s neck. The contact was welcome, it was evident that the covers had been thrown from their intertwined bodies at some point in the night, and in their drunken state neither of them had thought to close the balcony doors, a cool breeze circulating through the room.

There was no knock at the door, and Dorian almost threw himself from the bed and over the balcony like a startled halla, skittish and ready to jump anywhere to be out of the way of danger. As he sat up Adaar joined him, equally as startled by the sudden entrance. Josephine was too busy looking down at her documents to notice the scene and instead began to speak.

“I have received a complaint about a qunari and a Tevinter hurling abuse at a marquis in the late hours of the night, you wouldn’t happen to- Ah!” She stopped when she finally looked up. Adaar attempted to reach for the covers to at least cover their modesty as they both sat entirely naked and unbelievably hungover. Unfortunately Josephine had looked up too quickly for the hungover qunari to fall over the edge of the bed and retrieve the sheets. “Dorian?! I mean, Lord Pavus, I did not expect to find you… In here.”

“I’d say it was closer to the early hours of the morning. And surely you’ve heard the rumours by now?” He asked sourly, gripping one of the cushions to quickly cover himself.

“Well, ah, yes, but I informed many nobles that they were nothing more, was I wrong to do so?”

“No, well yes, but…” Dorian stammered.

“We don’t want our personal business to be the common knowledge of every noble in Orlais.” Adaar answered more eloquently.

“Of course, I will leave you alone, and inform the Marquis that the inquisition sends its regards. I understand it’s none of my business, but for future reference what should I tell gossiping dowagers?”

“Keep on telling them-” Adaar began, but Dorian cut him short.

“Tell them the inquisitor is spoken for, by me.” He could see Adaar’s movement in his peripheral vision but he had no idea of how big the ridiculous smile he was wearing was until he turned slightly, realising that it was reflected on Josephine.

“Of course! I will leave you to rest.”

When the door closed behind her they could hear the distinct voice of the commander. “Is the inquisitor in there, I need to speak with him.”

“Let them rest.”

“Them? The inquisitor has company?”

“It would seem relations between Tevinter and the Qunari are at an all-time high Commander Rutherford.”

“So…” Adaar began, wrapping his arms around Dorian, pressing his face against his neck, beard scratching against his skin, though it was not an unpleasant feeling. “We’re not a secret anymore?”

“It would appear so.”

“I feel like a little celebration is in order.”

“Please Maker, no more wine, for at least a day, my head can’t take it.”

“Want to go back to sleep and forget the inquisition exists?”

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had.”


	17. Asit Tal-eb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The way things are meant to be_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter thus far for absolutely no discernible reason...  
> In case you were interested I [drew a tarot card for Kadan](http://sjinsbutt.tumblr.com/post/114770200768/three-daughters-three-warriors-all-like-tama) that I put way too much effort and detail into. (Contains kind of spoilers if you don't know his personal storyline)

Things weren’t so secret anymore, or so he could only assume, the way certain members of the inquisition looked at him, like they knew his ‘dirty little secret’. It was all on his command, but still he shied away from the comments, from the looks. He was waiting for it, for the one that would tip him over the edge, the one that would give him reason to fight, to use his quick tongue. But as of yet it hadn’t come, and he wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not. It only meant he had longer to wait before it inevitably arrived.

Winter had hit Skyhold in full force by the time they returned from the Winter Palace (ironic really), snow falling in the courtyard. Dorian didn’t try to fight off Adaar is he wrapped his furs around him. It was a warm presence, one he would have been an idiot to deny. Unfortunately Adaar had business to attend to, so as Dorian sat in his nook in the Library as always, he was slowly losing the feeling in his fingers. The rotunda wasn’t exactly the warmest of places, and with winter looming (how could it be any different from summer? There was always snow on the peaks!) it seemed that the temperature was only set to plummet.

He mulled over all of the places that would be warmer than the library, gathering up several books to keep him occupied as he huddled in warmth. He finally resolved that he’d return to his quarters, light a fire with his magic and keep it going, he had been rather annoyed to discover that his fire hadn’t been waiting for him when he’d returned from Halamshiral, and his room had been stone cold.

A part of him wondered if, as the inquisitor, Adaar got any more special treatment, perhaps he already had a roaring fire in his room, and even if the decoration wasn’t exactly to Dorian’s taste, the room was still larger and far more comfortable than his own. They had also pulled through on the bath request whilst they’d been at Halamshiral. He could have a warm bath, a glass of Orlesian wine and read up on the use of magic that distorted the fade. It seemed from his display at Halamshiral that Adaar had been practising it, and the only other rift mages he’d encountered were Solas and-… well the other couldn’t even remember her own name. He had to know what the effects of such magic were. Sure Adaar did his research but he searched until he found what he needed to know, and then abandoned the remainder of his search.

Surely he wouldn’t mind if Dorian utilised his room for an hour or so.

 

Over an hour had passed, and thanks to careful doses of fire magic Dorian was still sat in a warm bath, fingers and toes wrinkled, hair and moustache clinging to his damp skin, but he was more than content, third glass of wine in one hand, book in the other, the smell of lavender oils filling the room. Surely this was the only purpose of southern winters, making you enjoy warmth all the more.

“Here I am thinking I can retire for the evening…” The voice surprises Dorian, the wine sloshing in his glass and almost spilling into the bath tub as he flails momentarily in an attempt to sit upright, before he composes himself, sipping at the wine as if his stumbling never occurred. It must have been one of the first times he hadn’t heard the qunari arriving. “But instead what do I find? A naked Vint using my bath, stealing my wine and reading my books.”

Dorian turns to look at him, and the smile he receives is nothing if not fond, a hand reaching out to run fingers through his wet hair, and he is more than aware that he looks less than perfect, make-up washed away, hair and moustache unstyled. Still, Adaar leans down pressing a kiss to his forehead, twirling Dorian’s limp moustache between his fingers with a chuckle.

“What are you reading, anything I’d find interesting?”

“Copies of some of the only known writings on rift magic, I should hope you’ve already read it.”

“Ah, yes… But, why would Dorian Pavus, a very capable necromancer, be reading up on Rift mages?”

“Don’t go thinking about it too much.” He instructed but the smile was already tugging at Adaar’s lips.

“You do worry about me don’t you?”

“Worry about the inquisitor’s safety, a fully grown qunari? Perish the thought.”

“So you won’t mind that the Iron Bull and I are heading off to the Storm Coast tomorrow to meet up with a bunch of qunari.”

“Qunari? But you’re Tal-Vashoth; surely they won’t take kindly to you, you can’t simply go with Bull, a ben-hassrath and a saarebas, no.” Adaar raised an eyebrow, “Fine, I _do_ worry, and I’m coming along.”

“A Tevinter mage and a Tal-Vashoth on an expedition to seal a possible qunari alliance is possibly one of the worst ideas in Thedas, which is exactly why you’re already on the team.”

“You don’t want this alliance?”

“Of course I do. This is almost my equivalent of Tevinter offering aid, they’re almost my people. But at the same time I’ve got to make sure they’re trustworthy, ensure I’m not blinded by the fact they’re offering the inquisition some form of aid, even if it is for their own benefit.”

“Who else is coming?”

“Bulls’ Chargers and Varric, I figured he’s had dealings with the qunari before, he could be valuable. I almost debated bringing Cassandra but I think he’s ready to get out of Skyhold.”

“Why Cassandra?”

“She seemed like the best of what was left… What would a follower of the qun think of Cole or Solas, or sweet Maker, imagine letting Sera loose on one of them. Cassandra was the safe option… You know, Cassandra is jealous of you?”

“Cassandra, now you can’t possibly be speaking of our dear seeker?”

“You bet I am. Did you know she reads romance novels? She’s worse than me!”

“As a matter of fact I did know, she leant me a few. Varric’s novels to be precise. But jealous, of all of the things she could be jealous of, my good looks, my wit and intelligence-”

“Your modesty.” He joked, running his thumb over Dorian’s forearm, massaging the skin beneath.

“Of all those things she chose to be jealous of _us_.”

“Honestly _I’m_ almost jealous of us in the rumours, have you heard everything we get up to? Apparently we’re doing some wild shit kadan. More wild than me watching you use my new bath.”

“Somebody had to make sure it was up to standards, it was evident you were far too busy.”

“Obviously, but now I’m not, so if you would be inclined to join me in bed, otherwise I might just have to try and join you in there…”

“Now honestly, what’s the point in having a qunari sized bath crafted if you don’t intend to test its limits.” A smirk pulled at the inquisitor’s lips as he began to remove his clothing. When he became extremely aware that Dorian was watching, he pulled it off slowly, teasingly, making a show of undoing every clasp and tie, flinging each item of clothing across the room, but his strip-tease reached a point where it was no longer wholly sensual and Dorian was laughing so much he was trying hard not to spill his wine.

-

“Our qunari contact should be here to meet us.” Bull explained as they traipsed along the storm coast. They had left camp less than an hour ago and they were already soaked to the bone, mixing with the fact that the Chargers knew how to drink and have a good time, and as such he had very little sleep, it was not the best concoction. If he’d had even the faintest belief that this exchange was to be enjoyable the rain had immediately changed his mind.

The qunari contact was, upon first inspection, not at all what Dorian had been expecting. A slim elf with swept back brown hair announced, “He is, good to see you again Hissrad.”

Dorian could see Adaar flinch away from the name out of the corner of his vision.

“Gatt!” Bull exclaimed, happy enough to see him. “Last I heard you were still in Seheron.”

“They finally decided I’d calmed down enough to go back into the world.”

“Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.”

“Pleased to meet you inquisitor, Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work.” Despite his words his tone didn’t sound particularly pleased. Dorian had already decided he wasn’t fond of Gatt.

“Iron Bulls name is Hissrad? Doesn’t have the same ring to it.” Varric asked with slight humour in his voice.

“Under the Qun we use titles not names.” Gatt explained, though Dorian was sure the four of them already knew that.

“My title was ‘Hissrad’, because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as ‘keeper of illusions’, or…”

“’Liar.’ It means liar.” Gatt stated plainly, and Dorian could clearly see the discomfort in both of the qunaris.

He was almost certain that Adaar was about to say something when Bull spat, “You don’t have to say it like _that._ ”

“It’s so nice to hear that friends say good things about me in their secret spy reports.” Adaar stated, sounding bitter, but he flashed a quick smile at Bull.

“He speaks highly of you, especially for a Tal-Vashoth, but his reports aren’t particularly secret.” The whole sentence was said with disdain, and it had honestly surprised Dorian that it had taken this long for things to turn less than civil. When Gatt’s eyes wandered in his direction he already knew exactly where the next sentence was heading. “But don’t worry; I know how it works out here. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the influence of this Venatori cult.”

“Yes.” Dorian sighed. “Filthy decadent brutes the lot of them. I’m sure life would be better for all of us under the Qun?”

“It was for me.” Gatt answered with a scowl. “After Hissrad and his men saved me from slavery in Tevinter. I was eight. The Qun isn’t perfect but it gave me a better life.”

“Yes, one free from all that pointless free will and independent thought. Such an improvement.”

“Both of them have their problems.” Adaar stated cutting the argument short, but Dorian knew where Adaar stood. Under the Qun his treatment would be far worse than most of the slaves in Tevinter, bound leashed and lips sewn shut.

“I’m not here to convert anyone.” Gatt explained. “I’m just here to stop this red lyrium from reaching Minrathous.”

“With this stuff,” Bull added. “The Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks, we could lose Seheron, and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.”

The only reason Dorian didn’t argue against him was the fact that he could feel Adaar’s eyes on him, and he knew it was at least partially true.

“The Ben-Hassrath agree, and that’s why we’re here. Our dreadnaught is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori then signal the dreadnaught so it can come and take out the smugglers ship.”

“Okay. We can kill Venatori, we’ve done it plenty of times before. What do you think Bull?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never liked covering dreadnaught runs. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. It’s risky.”

“It’s risky, yes, but it’s our best opportunity to put an end to this shipping operation, for good.” Gatt added.

“Let’s get this over and done with then.” Adaar sighed.

As luck would have it there were two possible locations for Venatori agents, it was decided that the Chargers would take one post, with Bull and, much to Dorian’s distaste, Gatt joining the inquisitor to take the second location. Bull left to speak with the Chargers and he could see them laughing out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t spent much time with them before last night at camp, but it could be assured he might spend a little more time in the tavern after all of this had blown over. They were a strange, mixed company, but they were fun to say the least.

“There are no families under the Qun.” Adaar stated. Dorian turned to him, wondering just what he was trying to explain. “That’s the closest thing he’s got.”

“He has no family back in Seheron?”

“Maybe. But he’ll have no idea who they are; as soon as a child’s born they pull them away from their mother and give them to the Tamasrans. That’s the way it is. You’re allowed friends, but no families.”

The group split with a unified chant of “Horns up!”

“Bull, you ready to go?” Adaar called.

“Ready when you are boss.”

“Then let’s wipe out some more Venatori.”

The job seemed fairly simple in comparison to what he’d been expecting, the five of them managed to wipe out one camp without any of the agents escaping. They had travelled to the camp in relative silence, so it came as a surprise when Gatt hung back slightly as the group headed on. “You must wish you were back in Tevinter, mage. No soldiers to guard you here, no slaves to wait on you.”

“It’s the lack of fashion that really strikes fear into my heart.” Dorian replied with a role of his eyes but sincerity in his voice.

“You know nothing of fear.”

Dorian’s grip tightened on his staff. Who was this elf to claim he knew his life? To claim that simply because was an Altus he must have lived a life completely devoid of any reason to be afraid? “And do you intend to teach me?”

“How about the two of you stop playing ‘who’s worst’ and focus on the Venatori?” Varric asked, cutting between them. Gatt looked down at him with disgust for a moment, before scowling and wandering towards the two quanris. Well, one qunari and one Tal-Vashoth as had been made clear. “I’m sure they’d prefer it if you didn’t kill the elven qunari.”

“He’s like everything the Imperium loathes rolled into one bite-sized ball of hatred.”

“So far I’ve met two escaped elven slaves and they’ve had a 100% chance of hating Tevinter mages, they don’t discriminate whether you have a magister’s licence yet or not.”

“Oh, lucky me!”

“Just hold out, for his sake.” He said gesturing to Adaar. “Imagine if it was him meeting the Magisterium. They’d hate him, and sure you’re not one of them, but had circumstances been different it could have been you. Make sense?”

“More sense than you can imagine.” He sighed.

“Get ready.” Gatt hissed. “We’re close.”

It was true, the second camp was barely any distance from the first, and though larger they made almost as quick work of it once Adaar opened a rift in the centre of the camp, immediately killing some of the agents, and severely weakening others. It was barely even a fair fight.

They lit the signal, discovering that the chargers had already lit theirs, Gatt claiming that Bull had given them the easier option, and the qunari didn’t attempt to deny it, instead smiling down at his company like a proud mother hen. Tama, the nickname seemed to make sense now.

The two qunaris and a Tal-Vashoth stood on the edge of the cliff, Bull and Adaar nudging one another and chuckling as the dreadnaught pulled in, taking only three shots to sink the lyrium shipment. Bull chuckled, puffing out his chest and shaking his head fondly, “That brings back memories.”

“Sorry to break up the show.” Varric called, gesturing towards the beach.

Dorian stormed towards the side of the cliff, getting a better view of the scene below them, as Bull’s shoulders dropped, muttering, “Crap.” Under his breath. Venatori had amassed on the beach, marching towards the hill where the Chargers still stood.

“They’ve still got time to fall back.” Adaar stated. “Signal for them to retreat.”

“Yeah.” Bull sighed.

“You’re men need to hold that position.” Gatt argued, and if Dorian hadn’t already hated him that would have been the tipping point.

“They do that, they’re dead.” Bull’s voice was low, almost a growl, but Dorian knew there was something wrong, he hadn’t sounded the horn, he hadn’t called the retreat, why was he waiting?

“And if they don’t the Venatori take it and the dreadnaught is dead.” _That_ was why.

“You’d be throwing away an alliance between the inquisition and the qunari. _You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”_ Gatt spits and the man that runs horns first into battle flinches from the words. He takes the words like any normal person with self-preservation would take a blade.

“Save the Chargers!” Adaar’s voice rises above Gatt’s finally realising that it’s not so straightforward in Bull’s mind.

“With all you’ve given the inquisition half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already! I stood up for you Hissrad! I told them you would never become Tal-Vashoth!”

“They’re my men.”

“I know but you need to do what’s right Hissrad… For this alliance and for the Qun.”

“Bull?!” Adaar shouts over Gatts reasoning. “ _The Iron Bull,_ that is the Chargers, Krem, Stitches, Dalish, Rocky, Skinner, Grim; they’ll _die_ down there Bull!”

“Listen to him!” Dorian shouted.

“Don’t! Do you take orders from a Tal-Vashoth and a Vint now, Hissrad?!” Gatt growled.

“Do you take advice from your friends, Bull?” Varric asked, the first thing he’d said since he’d spotted the Venatori, but it was his words that silenced Gatt.

“Call the retreat.” Adaar instructed calmly, but even before he could say the words the horn was at the Iron Bull’s lips.

They all watched as the Chargers fell back to safety heaving sighs of relief, all except Gatt who paced about. “All those years, Hissrad, and you threw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them_?”

“His name is not Hissrad, it’s Iron Bull.” Adaar growled, and the squeeze Bull gave the young Vashoth’s shoulder was encouraging, approving.

“I suppose it is.” Gatt stated sourly, before his pacing lead him away from camp, but not before one final pointed glare in Dorian’s direction.

“There’s no way they’ll get out of range.” Bull sighed. “Won’t be long now.”

“There’s no point standing around waiting for the inevitable.” Adaar suggested, returning the comforting hand, squeezing Bulls bare shoulder, “Let’s head back to camp, and regroup with your boys.”

“Sure thing boss.”

“I’m sure that when it sinks-” Dorian begins as a way of comfort, he was going to say that surely something could be salvaged, but Bull cut him short.

“Qunari dreadnaughts don’t sink.”

Almost as if on cue the explosion sounded behind them, reverberating from the cliffs, echoing throughout the coast. Bull stopped for only a moment, taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders before powering onwards. Varric and Dorian shared a glance and they both knew what it meant, an unspoken question that neither of them can answer, _is he going to be alright_?

The trip back to camp seemed to take longer than the trip there, even though they no longer had Venatori opposing them. It was somehow more silent than their trip in the opposite direction, but thankfully Gatt wasn’t there this time. It was fairly obvious now that he wasn’t only Dorian’s least favourite elf.

Sombre didn’t suit either of the qunaris, or rather Tal-Vashoth’s. Perhaps that proved it, qunari’s perpetually seemed to be scowling, yet it seemed almost out of place on their features. Maybe, however stupid it sounded even in his own mind, that was part of the reason they were better off Tal-Vashoth.

When they returned to the camp a smile returned to the Bull’s features as he saw the Chargers had beaten them there, sat around a recently lit campfire, talking animatedly, every one of them. Krem stood as soon as he saw them approaching.

“Chief? We missed the end of the fight, what happened out there?”

“The dreadnaught went down.” He answered simply. Krem nodded, understanding the implications, he was a bright boy. Had the world been kinder to him he could no doubt have been easily become a general in Tevinter. Unfortunately the Imperium had the tendency to favour few and cast all else aside.

“We were waiting for you to get back before we cracked open that cask of Chasind sack mead.”

“Damn it, Krem that’s the kind of thing you don’t mention in front of the inquisitor.” Bull grumbled, still smiling.

“I’ll only be furious if you’ve not got enough to go around.” Adaar joked.

“What are you waiting for then?” Bull asked. “Crack it open.”

“Sure thing chief.” Krem answered with a smile, before returning to the rest of the Bull’s crew.

“I’m proud of you Bull.” Adaar stated.

He laughed quietly before muttering, “Thanks boss.”

“Carried a cask of inquisition mead out to the Storm Coast, huh?” Adaar asked after a short pause. “I’ll have to do that in future.”

“Might make the weather slightly more bearable.” Dorian added.

“Drinking mead so you can head out into the rain? Didn’t think you had it in you Vint.”

“I’ve essentially become a barbarian since moving to Ferelden. You’re all rubbing off on me.”

“Not me, I’m a Free Marcher born and bred.” Varric argued in mock offence as they made their way to the Chargers.

“You know, Varric, I went been to Kirkwall once.”

“Yeah?” He asked in genuine surprise and interest.

“Bit of a shithole.”

“Yeah...” He admitted in defeat.

-

By the time the sun had set the cask of mead was near enough emptied, and they were moving onto the more than suspicious cocktails that Adaar found scattered across Thedas. Dorian wondered how they’d all survived the blight if the wardens were getting shitfaced off this. It was just after sunset that Gatt decided to show his face, appearing before a far less than sober camp.

“Inquisitor?” Adaar turned in no hurry, and Dorian couldn’t be sure if it was the alcohol or simply his unwillingness to address the elf that caused his delay. “It is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our people. Nor will you be receiving anymore reports form your _Tal-Vashoth_ ally.”

“You under orders to kill me Gatt?”

“No, the Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man, they’d rather not lose two.” He stated before bowing his head and leaving.

“The way he says Tal-Vashoth you’d think I’m not stood right here.” Adaar muttered.

“But you’re not Tal-Vashoth; not really, you grew up with a family. You never knew anything different. Not like me, Tal-Va-fucking-Shoth.”

“But those bandits and murders you see as Tal-Vashoth, I grew up with them, _they_ were my family. You’re not whatever the Qun says a Tal-Vashoth is, you’re not a follower of the Qun any longer. You’re Iron Bull.”

“I can live with that.”

“And just think chief.” Krem piped up. “Being Tal-Vashoth has its perks, you get to see our pretty faces every day.”

Bull let out one of his booming laughs, ruffling his second’s hair.

“There are no families under the Qun.” Adaar muttered, swaying towards Dorian slightly.

“You told me that this morning.” He stated, understanding though that the qunari was probably trying to be philosophical.

“Did I..? Shit.” He asked, swirling the bottle in his hands, for such a large creature he was a lightweight when it came to holding his alcohol. “But, what I’m trying to say is, Tal-Vashoth don’t follow the Qun, they make their own families. Bull hasn’t been a qunari for a while, he just didn’t want to realise.”

“What about you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I like to think I might make my own, maybe not the conventional one, something more than the inquisition, something that’s ours.”

“ _Ours?”_

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You most certainly did.”

“Well, don’t you ever think about… after?”

“After. Dreadful thing, after. Assuming one or both of us aren’t slaughtered in the process I assume I would be correct in thinking you want us to stay together, saying syrupy things like that. But if you prefer we could go our separate ways, I’ve been a port in a storm before...”

“Why can you never say things the easy way..? Is that really what you want?” He asked with concern.

“You’re the inquisitor. You’re the one with the responsibilities. I am but an adornment upon your arm.”

He moved in closer, arm wrapping around Dorian’s waist in clear view of the camp, and he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or if he was truly feeling less afraid of other's judgement whilst he was with the qunari, but he didn’t flinch away. “You _know_ you’re more than that to me.”

With a smile Dorian leaned into the embrace. “I- I don’t know what the future holds. For us or anything. That’s my honest answer. But once Corypheus is defeated, when this is over… I’d like to talk about it more, if you would.”

“I would like that.” Lips pressed against his and he smiled against them, ignoring the ‘wooing’ that came from camp, and the chuckles as he and Adaar both gestured rudely towards the campfire without breaking the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is another chapter I'm not sure about, but this is the first of a few chapters that will focus around qunari/Tal-Vashoth affairs.


	18. Amulets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was going well, until the nightmares returned.
> 
> There's a bit of transphobia and internalised homophobia in this chapter, also very heavily implied suicide, all in the dream at the beginning.

The seas on the coast of Qarinus were in turmoil, beating against the docks, the buildings raised high above the boats and waters. Rain beat down against the city, a dark spire clawing at blacker skies, occasionally streaked with lightning, the opportune night for an electromancer to practice their skills.

_He was running, robes of onyx and halcyon flaring out behind him. Tears streaming down his face, kohl streaked cheeks, disguised by the rain that beat against his hood. There was nowhere he could run, no where he could be free of himself. He only stopped when the cliff did._

_They told him he was old enough to know his mind, but they still called him boy. It was never enough, he would never be enough. He was an abomination, more so than any demon. He could hide it all, he could feel their pride and lie, lie to their faces as he tried to be everything._

_He tried._

_He didn’t want this; he wanted it to be gone, this realisation. He wanted to lie to himself, to keep on believing that he could be everything. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t be anything but the disappointment in his father’s eyes._

_“Altus Pavus?” A soft voice asked._

_He whipped around, eyes falling on the young magister that stood before him. Though he had only met them personally a handful of times, and never long enough to be considered acquaintances, they were unmistakable from the soft blonde hair that framed their face, not seen often in the Imperium, and the fact that many spoke of this… woman. “M-Magister Tilani?”_

_“Come with me, you’ll catch your death in this weather.” He couldn’t, couldn’t reach out to the kind hand that was extended to him. Feet shuffled backwards, finding the edge. “Please, come with me.”_

_“Tell father I’m sorry.” Then the sea rushed to meet him._

 

“Don’t jump!”

Everything was too close, too tight. Air evaded his lungs as he gasped, shaking and wet. Hands reached out for something, anything that could ground him, remind him of where he was. Fingers. Fingers curled under his hand, holding gently. Another hand rubbed his back, easing him back to reality. A quiet voice soothed, even as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks.

Everything was going well, until the nightmares returned, no longer simple memories; they all started out that way, before twisting, contorting until he wasn’t sure where the memory ended and the nightmare began.

“Dorian, you’re safe. It was just a dream.”

Their room was warm but it didn’t feel comfortable anymore; the fire still crackling in the hearth, held there by magic. Despite his warmth, skin clammy, he pressed himself against the body that comforted him, and they stayed like that, silent but for the occasional comforting words.

 _Their room._ He’d taken to calling it that two weeks after their return from the Storm Coast, it was Adaar who had started it, he hadn’t said it again and Dorian didn’t dare say it aloud, but in his mind it was theirs. The inquisitor had called his quarters theirs as one would call water wet, as if it were obvious and nothing of a surprise. It was as simple as asking Dorian if he wanted to go back to _their_ room, and appearing confused when it surprised him. It had been over three months since Dorian had joked about the idea of them venturing into mutual domesticity, yet a few of his robes hung in the closet, a spare change of clothes (as well as the black chiffon robe that Adaar admitted a fondness for) some of his toiletries sat on the dresser.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision. He brought something that he thought he might need and decided to collect it later, the issue was he didn’t collect it, it instead found a home amongst Adaar’s belongings. He’d learnt that in private it was hard to say no, and so he didn’t. When they were alone nobody cared whether or not they held hands, whether or not Dorian kissed Adaar like he was scared he might still leave, but he never did. It was all so preposterous, the soft kisses Adaar gave him had started to seep from the bedroom, their lips meeting in the library, in the garden when the sun was setting, that one time in the tavern.

“Don’t let go of me.” He muttered, holding ever tighter onto Adaar, even once the tears had stopped. It was by far not the worst dream, but he couldn’t shake it, couldn’t block out the memories.

“I won’t. Are you alright?”

“It was just a nightmare. I’ve been having them for months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He titled Dorian’s chin so that they faced one another, but even then he couldn’t meet the inquisitor’s concerned eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Dorian, if you’re cold or you cut yourself on some paper you complain endlessly, but when there’s something wrong, _really_ wrong, you don’t say a word.”

“I’ll have you know that cut hasn’t healed yet, it hurts far more than you would imagine.”

“Dorian, please tell me?”

With a sigh he met Adaar’s eyes, one of his worst decisions to date. The intensity in his blue eyes was distracting, compelling. “Since Adamant, I’ve been having dreams, nightmares. Some are much worse than others.”

“You should have told me. What can I do to help?”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep. You always tell me you’re such a great story teller. Tell me about that mercenary group of yours.”

“The Valo-Kas? Okay.” He shuffled pressing his back against the headboard, and Dorian’s back against his chest. Fingers ran lazily over Dorian’s body as Adaar began his tale. “My parents joined the Valo-Kas when I was young, it was my father who earned the name Adaar, it literally means fire-thrower, suits him well. I grew up with them, they were my family as much as blood relations, sometimes Shokrakar was more of a mother to me than my own Tama, she was mother and leader to everyone, she was a dragoness with a heart of gold, but you couldn’t tell her she was a softie because she’d give you a punch to prove you wrong… She and Tama never got along though, she was aqun-athlok. But, I always looked up to her.”

“I thought your Tama was aqun-athlok too?”

“She was, in a sense. Tama could never understand it, why would someone _choose_ to live as the other gender, when she’d hated every minute of it. She didn’t realise it’s not a choice; you can’t choose who you are. There are aqun-athlok like Tama, who were forced to act as the other gender to fulfil a role, and there are aqun-athlok like Shokrakar, and Krem and-… It’s different, and she could never understand it.”

“So you grew up with them?”

“Pretty much. I started training with them when I was young, learnt how to handle a great sword, that’s what Valo-Kas means, literally. When I accidently set the ground alight I hid it, most qunari fear magic, Tal-Vashoth are no exception, but they’d warmed to my father. I was scared about what they’d do, and what Tama would do. I lasted a few years, it was when they took me on my first job, I was a teenager, father was so proud, my first job with the Valo-Kas. The job didn’t go exactly to plan, it was meant to be simple, clear out this spider infested farm.”

“Clearing out a spider infested farm is simple?”

“It is when you’ve got five qunaris, even if two of them weren’t fully grown. Katoh was training too, a Tamassran with no fighting experience, she came along for the ride, she was always more of a healer. William wasn’t even a leader then, it-”

“William? You knew a qunari named William?”

“Yep, iron-ass Tully. Not all of us have qunlat names. Now, am I allowed to continue?”

“Fine.”

“Will lead my company when I went to that fucking conclave,” He grumbled looking down at the mark on his hand, glowing dimly. “But he was a fairly new recruit back then, hardly any standing, and it was only a small company, been around barely longer than we’d been with them, so Shokrakar took us out. They were tougher than we expected, they’d battled spiders so many times before they’d lost count, but these were corrupted, tainted by the blight that was coming. They over powered us and I got pushed away from my father. I could hold my own, but one of them lunged at me. Instincts kicked in, I dropped my sword and I could hear Shokrakar shouting at me, my dad was trying to fight off a spider and take out mine. But it jumped, so I put my hand out and it just, exploded! Fire everywhere. Katoh shit herself, never really trusted me after that, pulling a fireball straight out of my ass in the middle of my first battle, I think I might have been one of the reasons she preferred to stay at camp and so the healing. I collapsed after it though, it was pretty embarrassing.”

“Babies first fireball.” He cooed.

“Yeah. I can remember dad waking me up, giving me a lyrium potion and smiling. Tama hated it. I’d never heard them argue like they did that night. Asala and Kost were only children then, they’d left it a while after me, wanted to find somewhere safe to settle. She was so worried that they would grow up like me. That’s around when she started calling me Hissrad…”

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, running his hands over Adaar’s arms.

“It seemed like the only times they argued it was about me.”

“My parents argued constantly, not always about me. Sometimes it was purely for something to do.”

“If they were so hung up on raising an heir why are you an only child?”

“I guess I popped out of the womb and they could already tell I would be devastatingly handsome. No point in trying again when you got it spot on first time.” There was no point in explaining that they hated one another so much they can’t stand to be together long enough to try for a second.

Lips brushing against Dorian’s ear, before a yawn stopped him, he muttered, “You are ridiculous kadan.”

“I’m certain that’s my line.” He muttered, “Kadan… do many qunaris use the term?”

“I can only assume; I’ve been Tal-Vashoth my whole life, never stepped foot in Qunari lands. I do know about a necklace, a token called kuul’an kadan the necklace of my heart. My parents had them.”

He mulled it over for a moment before admitting, “I think I can sleep now.”

“Good, I’m almost falling asleep back here.” Pressing a kiss to Dorian’s jaw he muttered, “Good night kadan.”

“Good night amatus.”

A necklace. Surely, he could do that.

-

There was very little in the Skyhold library on qunaris, he had discovered this fact almost instantly, and had tried to avoid Adaar in his requests for more literature about his kin, instead approaching Josephine. Very little was kept from Adaar however, so it was of no surprise to the mage when the Tal-Vashoth had appeared in the library the week before bearing four books with a grin. He said nothing, simply placing the books on the desk, glancing at Dorian with that smile still plastered on his face, before turning and leaving.

At the time Dorian had been sour, but he soon discovered that perhaps sending a Tal-Vashoth to look for books was a good idea, the ones he had managed to find were in good condition, and as far as he was aware, accurate, unlike the Tevinter propaganda. One of the books however was completely written in Qunlat, unfortunately for him that was the one where he had seen it, kadan.

He’d learnt a few words along the way, from both Adaar and a few from the Iron Bull, but nowhere near enough to consider translating entire works of literature.

When he heard the quiet exchange between Solas and the inquisitor, and the tell-tale footsteps on the stairs, he stowed the book away, folding over the corner of the page so as not to lose it.

“I have something for you.”

“Something for me? A gift? If you’re not careful inquisitor nosey chantry mothers will think that you and I are involved.” He made a point of leaning out of his chair and glaring at Mother Giselle for a moment, as Dorian had anticipated she’d been amongst the first to look at him disdainfully when it had become common knowledge and the rumours had become fact, as of yet she had not plucked up the courage to comment, not after Adaar had put her in her place previously.

“What a shame.” Adaar joked as he leaned in to press their lips together. Dorian didn’t fight it, not in the library.

“So, what is it? Don’t keep me waiting.”

Smiling, Adaar let the chain drop from his palm catching it before it could fall. “Ponchard might be a weasel, but he’s true to his word.”

He gasped quietly, climbing from the chair to take the amulet in his hand. The Pavus birthright, black and fire opals set in gold, one of the flashier birthrights of the imperium, they had a fine lineage, and it showed in the jewellery.

“Do you wear it? Or is it one of those things you’ve got to keep safe?”

“Most wear them, a sign of power, make peons tremble before you and all that.” His fingers ran over the crossed snakes on the amulet. “I still feel indebted to you.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t owe me anything. But, tonight I’m sure I can think of a few ways you could try to make it up to me.” He muttered with a grin, hands brushing over Dorian’s hips, foreheads touching.

Dorian pressed their lips together quickly. “I’ll be sure to repay the debt amatus.”

“Turn around then.” He was certain the shock was evident in his features, that sultry tone bringing a blush to his cheeks. “I mean, I’ll put it on for you.”

“Of course.” Dorian choked, turning quickly to hide the flush that had reached his ears.

“I love it when I manage to catch you off guard. You usually have a remark ready for me.”

“Yes, well, when you very much said it as if you wanted to take me against the shelves.” He hissed.

Lips against the back of his neck, Adaar hummed in contentment, “Maybe after hours we might just have to try.”

His fingers teased the clasp on the necklace shut, massaging Dorian’s neck as they trailed over his skin. His eyes flicked over the room, still never truly at rest. Nobody was watching and Adaar knew as much. “It would be a crime to sully such ancient tomes.”

“I was thinking we could do it in the Chantry section.”

“Now, you have piqued my curiosity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Black opals are blue,](http://geology.com/gemstones/opal/black-opal.jpg) who'd have thought?!  
>  Also I really want to write about what actually happened that night, as opposed to what happened in the dream (twisted by the nightmare) because I like to think that Dorian did have at least some positive role models in his life that didn't end up dead or corrupt or both.
> 
> On another note I've had my go at butchering Tevene, and unfortunately it's now Qunlat's turn... (The phrasing of necklace of the kadan always bugged me. "Necklace of the my heart"?! "Necklace of the where the heart lies"?!)
> 
> And (so many notes) I do headcanon Shokrakar as a trans woman, and a complete bad ass.


	19. Ataashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dragon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter so far, and it was one of my favourites to write so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Unfortunately the production of chapters might slow down a little, I've been staying at my parents recently and I haven't been doing too good, but I'm working on them, and all of the kudos and comments this series has received is amazing, and I could never have imagined I would receive such a warm reception from the fandom, thank you all so much!

The moment Adaar left the library Dorian retrieved the book from under his chair, and made his way towards the tavern, book held tightly under his arm. When he arrived he had hoped to find the qunari (an old habit to break) alone, as he often was, but instead he was gathered in a small group, he Varric and Sera, glaring at one another as they slammed their cards on the table in defeat.

He was taking his exile well, but then again he was amongst friends, and those friends weren’t giving him long enough to dwell on his new status.

“Bull I require your help.”

“Join us.” He enthused gesturing to the card game, Varric taking the gold with a smile. Dorian would prefer to keep his gold safely in his pockets for now. Especially if he would be purchasing one of these necklaces.

“I’ll sit but I won’t bother joining the game.”

He sat down cautiously, especially considering the way Sera smiled at him; he was still waiting expectantly for the comment that would tip him over the edge of his manners. Sure some people glared at him, but they always had, and he couldn’t discern whether that was a result of his relationship, or simply him being Tevinter.

At the very least he didn’t have to worry about Sera making a viscous comment on his preferring his own gender, at least not one he couldn’t return in kind. “So, you and the inquisitor, hey? What’s that like? Jousting?”

It still wasn’t natural to speak of it aloud with others, his relationship (he’d stopped air quoting it which was a start) and sexual endeavours, but he was becoming increasingly more comfortable with it, “Fewer horses, marginally. More cheering, definitely.”

“Nice.” She giggled.

“What can I help you with?” Bull asked as Varric shuffled the cards, dealing them.

“I was hoping you might be able to explain something for me, a qunari thing… I’m not sure how it works.”

“Same as yours only bigger.”

He could feel the heat in his cheeks as Sera giggled, but he held his composure as he said, “No, I don’t need help in that department we’re getting along swimmingly, thank you.”

“How does that work, like? You and inky?” Sera asked, before Dorian could argue that he wanted to keep at least some of his endeavours private she continued. “He’s a mage, yeah, but he’s a nice one. You, you’re from Tevinter, all evil magi-whatsits and arses with slaves and shit, but you don’t act like a bad guy?”

“I’m not entirely sure what the question is anymore.”

“You’re not bad for a mage, right? But him, he’s nice. How does that work with the two of you, all I’ve seen you do is read and other magey shit?”

“I do more than just ‘magey shit’. Varric, deal me in.” It wasn’t that he was caving to impress an elf a qunari and a dwarf, all of whom preferred to spend their time in the tavern, no he simply thought that any gold he could swindle might be useful.

“Sure thing Sparkler.” He smiled knowingly as he handed him cards.

For a question he assumed would yield a simple answer, he was in the tavern far longer than he’d been planning. Several hands of Wicked Grace, and a few pints of Ferelden ale later (he’d gone for wine but Sera had called him ‘Mr snooty-pants’ the truth was he wasn’t at all opposed to the taste.)

“Bull, I came to ask about a certain necklace.”

“Necklace?” He asked, taking a sip of his ale.

“Kuul’an kadan?”

He almost spit his drink as he coughed into his flagon. “I didn’t realise things were getting serious between you two.”

“Serious, why? How serious is this?”

“You know what the necklace is right, how you craft it?”

“I have no idea, that’s why I came to you. It’s not like proposing marriage, right?”

“No, but it is the most traditional thing qunaris do. Necklace of the kadan, supposed to symbolise no matter how far apart life takes you you’re always together.” Sera made fake retching noises. “But you have to split a dragon tooth in half; each of you wears one half.”

“Wait.” Varric finally chipped in when all of the colour flooded from Dorian’s features. “You mean _Sparkler_ has to slay _a dragon_ , so he can make a necklace?”

“Yeah, it’s not the same if you don’t slay the dragon yourself.”

“Ten royals he gets eaten alive!” Sera bet confidently.

“Who is slaying dragons?” An immediately recognisable voice from over Dorian’s shoulder, filled with concern.

“Seeker, Pentaghast’s are famed reavers, right?” Varric asked as she continued to loom over them.

“Yes, there are tales of my ancestors, but eventually they were all driven mad, it is not an occupation to be taken lightly.”

“Fancy taking down a dragon?” Bull asked with a wicked grin.

“You’re mad. Surely you are not planning on taking on a dragon?!” Cassandra asked but there was an undertone of excitement evident in her voice and in her features. “Why would you hunt down one of the creatures?”

“Dori-Poopus needs it for some sort of qunari mating ritual.” Sera answered with a snicker.

Cassandra’s eyes widened, a blush covering the seeker’s cheeks. “So, it is true?”

“Yes, the inquisitor and I are involved, but it isn’t a ‘qunari mating ritual’.” He hissed in the direction of the giggling elf.

“Hey, if you’re interested in any, I could always-” Bull began, before Dorian cut him short with a curt “No, thank you.” Which sent Sera into a fit of laughter, and caused Varric, to suppress his chuckles as both Dorian and Cassandra turned a deep shade of crimson.

“Might I ask your reasons? Or will I regret it?” Cassandra carefully articulated.

With a sigh Dorian answered, “It appears I need a dragon tooth to make a necklace for Adaar.”

“Lovers share them, one each.” Varric explained. “A qunari tradition, but Dorian’s trying to surprise him.”

Dorian was expecting that usual disgusted noise that Cassandra made, but instead her lips remained tight for a moment, until she said, “I will aid you.”

“Good to have you on board! So it’s simple, we’ll all go and hunt down the dragon.” Bull stated

“You make it sound so easy. You don’t think Adaar would notice if half of his inner circle suddenly went missing for days on an expedition without him?” Varric questioned.

“Of course not, he’s coming with us!” Bull argued. “He might be Tal-Vashoth, but it’s the same for them… Us. We can’t leave him out when we go dragon hunting.”

“Are you mad?! This is supposed to be a surprise, or have you forgotten that?” Dorian asked.

“We can still make it a surprise, but trust me, he needs to come. You’ll thank me the morning after.” He added with one of his impossible winks. “Where is he headed to next?”

“Emprise du Lion, inquisition forces have reconstructed the collapsed bridge and we’ve been instructed to investigate.” Cassandra answered, after she cleared her throat, the blush slowly disappearing. “He plans on taking Varric, Dorian and I.”

“Perfect, I’ve had intel there might be one up there, I’ll make sure I’m there.

“What?! And me too!” Sera argued. “I’m part of the secret dragon hunting team now, yeah? I’ve got to come.”

“So Sera and I will find our way onto the expedition, don’t worry I can sweet talk the boss.”

“So you’re suggesting that the six of all go and fight a dragon in the freezing wastes of the Emprise du Lion so I can make a necklace?!” Dorian asked in utter surprise as his eyes fell on every one of the smiles directed at him. Bull’s grin, well-meaning but still more than excited about the prospect of fighting a dragon. Varric’s smile warm and gentle and encouraging. Sera’s impish grin, ready for chaos, for a fight. Finally, the slight tug of Cassandra’s lips, it was unnatural to see her smile, even a small one, but it suited her, more so than the usual hard line of her lips.

“So, two humans, two Tal-Vashoth, a dwarf and an elf all go off to fight a dragon…”

“What’s the punch-line?” Bull asked after a short pause.

“Hopefully not us.” Dorian answered with a sigh.

-

He’d always assumed he must have imagined the freezing temperatures of Emprise du Lion, surely nowhere could feasibly be that cold and still host life? But he was wrong, it was just as cold as he remembered. Adaar had been more than enthusiastic to bring along Sera and Bull, especially when the qunari (there was no way he was breaking the habit) had let it drop there would be dragon hunting involved, and they all wanted a piece of the action. The necklace still remained a secret however.

When they truly reached the snowy waste lands Adaar pulled a fur cloak from his pack, draping it over the mages shoulders, hands lingering for a second longer than was necessary as they smiled, Dorian thanking him. Sera making fake vomiting noises in the background.

“You’re smiling a great deal these days Dorian.” Cassandra commented as they approached their final camp. The sun was setting and it was as close to the bridge as they were going to get before nightfall. The Tower of Bone. _What a wonderfully pleasant name._

“I always smile. People like my smile, and they should! I have excellent teeth.” He could hear Varric chuckle behind them.

“Do you always do it while staring dreamily into the distance?” She countered.

“It depends how long until dinner.”

“Admit it Sparkler, you’re smitten.” Varric interjected.

“I am not ‘smitten’, I simply have an appreciation for some of the finer things in life.” As he said it their eyes trailed ahead, to Adaar displaying the fact that ice magic was more potent in colder climates, and that he had become more proficient in using his hands to create magic. As a result he was creating rather rude statuettes out of ice and handing them off to Sera who was enthralled, high pitched cackling bouncing off the snow as Bull only spurred him on with suggestions.

“The _finer_ things?” Cassandra questioned with her lips quirking up in a smile. “He is a good man, he tries hard to find the best in _everyone_ , I hope you are good for him too.”

“I hope so too.” He muttered.

The camp was full of life that night, both Adaar and Dorian helping to keep the fire bright. Iron Bull told stories of previous dragons he had fought, able to count his encounters on the full fingers that remained, but he ensured them he hadn’t lost the tips of his others whilst fighting dragons. Cassandra retold tales of her ancestors, reavers who consumed the blood of dragons to make themselves stronger, but it eventually drove them to madness. She ended the tale claiming that no one could be sure where the truth ended and hyperbole began. Dorian told his own stories, of what he knew of the old gods that the Imperium used to worship, before it was outlawed of course, their image still engrained on buildings, tomes, embroidered in clothing and soon the conversation turned from dragons to home.

It was strange that for the similarities none of their stories could be compared. Dorian, Cassandra and Varric, all born to noble families (and Sera raised by a noblewoman) yet none of their tales could be vastly compared (except for perhaps a dislike of their family.) Despite their differences there was however one thing they could all agree on, Skyhold was home, perhaps not only for now, depending on which way the wind would finally blow, depending on their fates.

As they sat around the camp Adaar’s arm wrapped around his waist gently, giving Dorian more than enough opportunity to pull away, but instead he rested his head against the qunari’s shoulder, feeling his grip tighten around him, a loving squeeze. He couldn’t blame it on drink this time, a warm cup of tea in his hands, not a drop of alcohol had touched his lips.

They all decided to call it a reasonably early night; they would be heading out early in the morning to find the dragon. As soon as Dorian had removed his clothes the frost hit him, even from inside the tent. Adaar pulled him under the furs and blankets quickly and he wondered how he had survived the last time without him to ward off the frost bite as he ran his large hands over Dorian’s arms, pulling him as close as their bodies would allow.

-

“I hope this blasted dragon breathes fire, I’ll be glad of the heat.” Dorian complained after they had crossed the newly repaired bridge, already well into the afternoon after they’d been interrupted by requisitions, odd jobs and a Templar or two had interrupted them. He had to forgo his furs so he could fight effectively, wearing only his emerald robes, and though they were capable of keeping him warm in many other climates they didn’t quite cut it in Emprise du Lion.

They all froze in place, though not from the cold, as a screech pierced the air, though still some distance away it was unmistakable. They all looked to the sky to see the two unmistakable shadows against the clouds, diving and circling, they were no birds.

“There’s two?!” Adaar asked, and though his voice sounded concerned his knuckles were white on his staff and his lips split in one of the biggest grins Dorian had ever seen plastered on the inquisitors face.

“Todays a good day boss.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Varric reminded them. “We might still have to take on two dragons.”

They carried on carefully from there, worried that their next step might alert a high dragon to their existence. All except for Bull who continued to stroll onwards as if it were a walk in the park and not hunting dragons in a frozen wasteland.

“There’s an ocularum up there.” Adaar commented, gesturing towards the top of a ruined coliseum. The inquisitor had always had a fondness for the looking glasses, those and the astrariums, he could not simply pass one without first inspecting it, and then consequently discovering all of the shards the strange skull on a post revealed. “I’m going to investigate.”

“We’re coming with you inquisitor.” Cassandra demanded. “You cannot know when one of them will decide to strike.”

He nodded in agreement and they all made their way towards the coliseum, watching closely for any swooping dragons. Dorian shook his head as he flanked the group watching the qunari up front sneaking up the stairs of the coliseum, and carefully over the uneven roof, no doubt a build-up of centuries of debris covered in a thick layer of frost. Here he was, hiding in a frozen wasteland, so that they could effectively sneak up on a dragon. The things one did for love-

If anyone had seen him physically flinch from his own thoughts they didn’t make it obvious. Love?! Was that what this was?! It wasn’t as if it was the first time the thought had sprung to mind. He mulled it over for a moment as he watched the qunari hunched over the ocularum, trying to find the right angle. Perhaps. Perhaps that’s what this was. Even if it had taken him a little longer to realise.

Certainly, it was far from one of Cassandra’s romance novels but when had he ever expected that? There was in part elements of it all that fit, the secret smiles they kept for one another. When his mind would wander from his reading, even when Adaar wasn’t with him, wondering what the qunari could possibly be doing. Hands and lips that lingered for far too long, butterflies and clammy palms fit for a tenager. Adaar made him want to forget his every defence and hope, nay, pray for more.

Maker, had he fallen in _love_?

“Piss!” Sera cried, the only warning Dorian received before the ground shook beneath him.

Instincts kicked in as he looked up at the beast before them, blue with scarlet markings, wings outstretched, wider than he was tall, screeching into the sky. First instinct was to ready his staff, casting a barrier on the group whilst they were still all huddled together. Second instinct, and this one was something new to him, something that had only arisen in the past few months, was to search for Adaar. When the qunari was no longer stood at the ocularum his eyes scanned the battlefield, Bull screaming something in Qunlat as he charged at the beast, Great axe drawn, Cassandra beside him, shield braced for the impact as her sword swept at one of the creatures legs. Sera and Varric rained arrows into the beast flanking it from either side, the elf having rolled nimbly to the other side of the coliseum floor. Then he saw it, the sweeping arc of fire hitting the beast. At least he knew Adaar was alive.

That was when the dragon chose turn to the Tevinter, before anybody else; evidently even the creatures here were biased. It spat a ball of elemental power at him, destroying what remained of his barrier but leaving him unharmed just unbelievably cold.

“Ice?! Of all the dragons in Thedas we pick the ice dragon?!” He shouted in annoyance, as he shot a ball of fire back at it in retaliation. The creature took it as if it was a mere annoyance.

 

Dorian couldn’t be sure how long they’d been fighting when the dragon took to the air, cut and bloody, but seemingly unharmed by their constant onslaught, but his breath was heavy, he was constantly clutching at the bottom of his mana and he doubted Adaar must be fairing much better. The dragon was tough to say the least, pulling in archers and mages with its wings, and freezing them on the spot as they all covered their ears in an attempt to drown out the deafening shriek it emitted. They were also running dangerously low on health potions.

“There has to be something better than this!” Cassandra cried through ragged breaths.

“There is.” Adaar answered, watching the dragon circle, pausing only to run out of the path of a ball of ice being fired in his direction. “Cassandra, when I give the word call upon the makers will. Varric what’s vulnerable?”

“It’s been limping on its front right leg.”

“Bull, aim for its leg, all you’ve got make it useless, Varric you too. Sera, flask of lighting when Cassandra calls on the maker, keep it busy, keep its eyes away from Bull and Varric, Dorian, haste as soon as Cassandra and Sera are done, prolong their work and make sure it really can’t keep up with Sera.”

Perhaps Adaar wasn’t what one would expect from the leader of an army, and perhaps he himself would admit he had very little clue when it came to making decisions, but there was one thing he _could_ do, people, friends. Mimicking until he was comfortable enough to remove the mirror, until he already knew every detail about them. When the group was people he knew he already had their every strength and weakness locked away in memory.

“Ready?” He called as the dragon drew closer and prepared to land. He received varying levels of agreement from ‘you have my blade’ to ‘tits’ (which even though it was a cry of surprise as the dragon landed on the ground it apparently counted as a yes.)

Adaar moved to stand beside Dorian. Staff at the ready. The dragon landed, almost crushing Bull in its wake. “Alright, Cassandra, Sera now!”

It was a strange combination, Cassandra praying in the centre of the battle as Sera chuckled and threw a glass flask at her own feet. That was his cue, and without further hesitation he reached into the depths of his mana, casting the haste spell, second nature to him now, however it was always a strange, though not wholly unpleasant feeling when the entire world slowed around them. They were a force to be reckoned with like this, working together, Sera moving with impossible speed, taunting the creature and firing arrows at it from every direction. The five of them all focusing on the dragon’s weak spot until it let out a snarl as it fell onto what could only be described as a shoulder.

It managed to throw itself back into the air though, powerful wings beating as it circled above them once again.

“Now what?” Adaar asked, looking to Varric, evidently searching for a vantage spot, now that only one health potion remained.

“The mouths the dangerous part.” Bull explained before Varric could get a word in, “But the neck and belly are fleshy, still can’t stick a sword in them but they’re more vulnerable to magic. Their insides aren’t particularly armoured either.”

“Okay.” Adaar stated, rather unsure what do with that information. “Bull, Cassandra, keep going for the legs, watch out for the claws. Varric, Sera, keep on distracting it, aim for the neck. If you can, try and find holes in its scales. Dorian, me and you have to try and get underneath it, either that or try and get your staff inside it.” He grumbled at Bull’s less then helpful information about their insides.

“Is that how you talk in the bedroom?” Sera asked with a giggle. “Ah, Dorian, get your staff inside it.”

“I imagine Dorian’s the one getting underneath it.” Bull added, stirring a laugh from Sera and a disgusted groan from Cassandra.

“Not exactly the time!” Dorian shouted before anyone could add more, the dragon heading straight for them jaw open as it prepared to blast them with ice. They all managed to narrowly avoid the attack, rolling out of its path. Adaar sent a fireball after it, hitting it on the side of the face. It showed they’d made some progress that the dragon now snarled at the impact instead of swatting it away.

“Do we all understand what we’re doing?” Adaar asked.

“Could you repeat it?” Sera asked but there was no time, the dragon dove down again, landing with a thud. It was clearly not in the best shape.

Thankfully it was slowing without need for spells, it was sluggish and heavy in its attacks, most of them easy to avoid. As it was they inched closer to the beast, avoiding Bull and Cassandra narrowly as they aimed for its neck and stomach.

They were close when Adaar finally dashed at the creature, only just avoiding its jaw snapping around his waist, what he hadn’t anticipated was it using it’d injured arm to strike him. Dorian watched with horror as the qunari was tossed aside like a doll weightless and limp. The heat flood from his veins as he saw Adaar limp and lifeless, only to return, burning hotter than before as a he screamed at the creature.

When it turned to Dorian, teeth bared in what almost appeared to be a grin, flashing it’s prizes, the reason he was here, he did the most idiotic and simultaneously the smartest thing he could think of at that very moment. Sera’s teasing words, still hung on the edge of his memory and he prayed to the maker that this would pay off.

As the creature opened its mouth to strike Dorian found the creature had slowed, his skin tingling with electricity, this was not of his own doing, not his usual spell. He didn’t stand around to ponder it any longer, and instead took advantage of the creatures open maw, thrusting his staff inside its mouth as far as it would go, his arm up to his shoulder inside the creature, and cast immolate. There was a gurgle of pain before the beast near exploded in fire and blood. Time returned to its normal stream in a flash of heat and dragon blood that coated Dorian from head to toe.

He stood there for a moment, steadying his breathing, not sure whether it was fear over launching himself into a dragons waiting jaw, worry over Adaar’s condition or anger over the fact that his emerald robes were soaked head to toes in dragons blood that caused him to shake on the spot. Probably a concoction of the three.

“That was kind of hot.” A voice croaked, chuckling at his own pyromancy joke before coughing, and at least Dorian didn’t have to worry about one of the things on that list anymore.

He jogged to the Tal-Vashoth led on his back in the snow, before kneeling beside him. His robes were ripped across his shoulder, coated in blood, it looked bad but there was no need to tell him that, he could no doubt feel it. “You had me worried there you lummox.”

“I told you, you do worry about me.”

“Yes, I do.” His revelation flooded back to him as he looked into those shockingly blue eyes, he’d once thought them unfit for a qunari, too pretty, how prejudiced he had been back then. His thumb ran over Adaar’s cheek and the qunari smiled.

“Seriously though that was really hot I’m kind of horny right now. Ha, get it horny.” Dorian groaned as Adaar began to chuckle again at his own joke before sucking in a sharp breath.

“Move over.” Cassandra commanded, kneeling down beside Adaar with the last health potion. Despite her words she wore a fond smile. “He’ll survive. Go and search the dragon, I hear they’ve found a staff worthy of replacing yours.”

“I should hope so.” He grumbled, “Mine now has a shiny albeit extremely unwanted coating of dragon spit.”

As he approached the group Varric and Sera left to ensure the inquisitor didn’t sit up and notice what was taking place. Bull beamed at him almost whispering, “You managed to almost keep the head intact, you’ve got nearly a whole set to choose from!”

“Lovely.”

“Hey you’re lucky, usually they’re missing a bunch of teeth but this one was in pretty good shape until you blew her to pieces.”

“Please don’t remind me I’m still covered in chunks of him.” Dorian shuddered as he bent before the unhinged jaw, inspecting the teeth, surely a canine would be his best option, slightly curved, the sharpest.

“Her.” Bull corrected, “Male dragons are smaller. And you smell _good_.”

“I- I what?!”

“Told you Vint, he’s going to get over that injury like it’s a paper cut as soon as he gets a real whiff of you, you’re going to thank me in the morning.”

“It happens to all qunaris? Then what are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry.” He winked, the ridiculous thing that it was. “Taarsidath-an halsaam.”

“You shouted that as we ran towards it, do I want to know what it means?” Dorian asked as he wrapped his hands around the tooth ignoring the drool that coated it, by far one of the least romantic gestures he had ever experienced. Why couldn’t qunari’s do chocolates and flowers?

“Roughly ‘I will bring myself great sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect’.”

“And you shouted that at a dragon?”

“Sure did.”

There was a crack as warning before he fell flat on his back, tooth gripped tightly in his hands.

“Perhaps we should attempt to leave the other dragon for another day.” He hissed as he stowed the tooth away in his satchel.


	20. Antaam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Body ___
> 
> _NSFW chapter not much plot just smut._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for how long it's taken for me to update, and odds are it's going to take just as long for the next chapter, but I'm back home now, so hopefully I can get caught up. Fingers crossed.  
> Thank you all so much for the continued support it is unbelievable how close to 250 kudos and 5000 views this is and I can't believe it?!  
>  **Edit ******Shortly after posting this chapter I hit both of these so Thank you!!

Bull propped up Adaar as they made their way back to camp, trying their damned hardest not to alert the other dragon that still occasionally circled overhead. Not so simple since Bull was insistent on holding Adaar’s nose the entire way back, even whilst trying to hold him on his feet, claiming that they’d thank him later.

“It’s not a real dragon fight if you don’t come out of it with a couple of scars.” He chuckled as he handed a potion to Adaar, a healer at the camp rubbing a poultice into the wounds, looking nowhere near as bad once the blood had been wiped away. The healer didn’t know her luck when she looked at the way Adaar still held his nose on Bull’s instructions and thought it best not to ask.

“So why does this work?” Dorian finally asked the Bull whilst the two of them were stood alone beside the beginnings of a campfire, the others having their own injuries tended to. They were going to drink to their victory once the sun was down, so they still had a short while, the snow tainted pink in the setting light.

“You mean the dragon blood?” He shrugged his shoulders. “You Vints used to worship dragons right? Well, they’re the closest thing to what the qunari would call sacred, even a Tal-Vashoth can appreciate that. But some of the Ben-Hassrath, they have… theories about the Tamassrans.”

“Have you been drinking already?”

“Yes.” He answered simply, looking far too smug.

“I’d love to hear some of these theories.”

“I don’t know how much Adaar has told you about qunaris.”

“Enough that you can keep on going without explaining anything you’ve already said.”

“Good. Well, you know that we have horns, we kind of look more… dragon-y than most people. It might just be that, but some of the Ben-Hassrath ask things like what if whilst they were breeding us, they added some dragon along the way? A long time ago, maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic, but dragons, that dragon… Ah, you wouldn’t understand.”

“It all seems like some great qunari conspiracy theory.”

“Possibly, but dragons, they speak to qunari, in a way no one else understands. Tell me it’s just a conspiracy after you see Adaar.”

“Speaking of our dear inquisitor I’ll go and ensure he hasn’t fallen victim to an overabundance of elfroot poultices. The stuff smells ghastly.” Bull gave him a smile as if he knew that wasn’t the reason Dorian was visiting Adaar, but it was, at least in part, the truth. He would rather not sleep in a tent that smelled like the arse end of a hart.

He was sat up on his bedroll a healer still fussing over him, but he was bright eyed, smiling as usual. Clearly nowhere near as bad as first anticipated.

“’Ome ‘oo ‘ec’ u’ ‘o ‘e” He mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian asked as he looked down at Adaar with concern.

The qunari reached into his mouth pulling a red leaf from under his tongue before clicking and trying to rid himself of the flavour much to the disapproving look of the healer. “Spindleweed.” He answered still with a very slight lisp. “Tastes disgusting, why anyone would use it as seasoning I’ll never know.”

“It’s only really used as seasoning for the gravely ill; when you’re dying you often don’t have much chance to be picky in palette. And you can barely taste it; it numbs the tongue and throat.”

“You’re saying that as if I don’t know.” He stated, clicking his tongue as if testing whether he could feel it. “We might have to test just how numb I am…”

The healer paused for a moment in her mixing of poultices. She looked between them before muttering in what was possibly an Antivan accent, “I will give you a moment alone.”

When she was out of the tent Dorian turned to Adaar with a scowl, but the qunari was far closer than he’d realised. Risen he was stood before Dorian one hand on his cheek, pupils wide and swollen lips hanging open. “I couldn’t get her to stop gossiping until you came in. Thought I’d never be rid of her.”

Dorian wanted to make some quick remark but Adaar’s arms were wrapping around his waist, his face buried in the crook of the mages neck, nose brushing over his skin, inhaling deeply. “Cassandra came by, and she smelt the same but I didn’t want to rip her clothes off.” Breath hot and heavy against his skin Dorian contained the moan that was already threatening to escape his lips. “May I?”

“Ever the gentleman.” He chuckled breathlessly. They had never done it in a tent before, in camp. There were too many people who could hear. The ground wasn’t the softest place. There were usually too many reasons, but right then none of them mattered to him.

“May I?” He growled. The rumble in his voice went straight to his cock, already twitching.

“Maker yes.”

Adaar lifted him from the ground, grunting quietly against his throat as Dorian wrapped his legs tightly around the qunari’s waist. Gripping Adaar’s chin in his fingers, pulling him so that lips crushed together, both of them pulling each other as close as their bodies would allow, even as Adaar set him on the war table. They were both desperate, fabric ripped as they pulled away clothing, fingers running through hair over skin. How could this be affecting him too?!

Dorian had always thought it ridiculous that Cullen insisted the inquisitor have a war table in each of his tents, but as Adaar swept away all of the pawns with one strong arm pushing him down with the other, his lips pressed against Adaar’s neck, bruising, hands tangled in his hair, it seemed like a perfectly logical addition.

He was used to fast hands in the dark, to quick and quiet and needy. This was most of those things, but it was certainly not quiet. Adaar moaned against his lips as he thrust against him, fabric rubbing together, but both straining against it as they grasped hungrily at one another. Adaar growled at the fabric between them and for a moment Dorian wondered just how savage he could be, if he could rip them away, no thought save conquest. Hands rough but still careful, he pulled away the last of their clothing, moaning and whimpering like a needy puppy.

“Command me.” He groaned against Dorian’s skin.

There was no fight in him, only desire, only want. “Fuck me on the table.”

Turning was not the graceful manoeuvre he had hoped for but it was worth it. Adaar’s lips on his neck, his hands on his waist, chest pressed flush against his back, as they both bent over the table, Adaar’s cock rubbing against his ass, it was so close, but simultaneously too far away for his liking.

Fingers circled his hole, teasing him and he had to shove his own fist between his lips, biting down to stifle the moans, they were in a tent, millimetres of fabric could not stifle the sound of their love-making no matter how far from the campfire their tent was positioned. But Adaar’s hand wrapped around his, hot breath at his ear, pulling his hand away. “Let me hear those pretty moans.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You love it.” He chuckled but his voice was breathy, desperate. Adaar hummed against his skin in delight, hips rubbing against his ass in impatience and Dorian knew there would be no more teasing. “Ready?”

“Venhedis, yes.”

A cry escaped his lips as Adaar lined up pushing inside him, fingernails digging into the wood. He slowly pressed further into him, waiting for him to adjust to his size, curses tumbling from his lips. It was pain in the way that made him want to scream for more, and when Adaar pulled back before thrusting against him, he did. He cried loud and unabashed, demanding more, and the qunari obliged, pounding him against the war table, with a concoction of grunts and moans, resembling his name, that made him heady. Surely everyone would hear, everyone would know the moans that escaped them, the unmistakeable sound of skin on skin and it was all he wanted, right then he wanted them to know. The inquisitor’s hand shuddered on Dorian’s dick as he came inside him, riding out his orgasm with powerful thrusts.

Adaar pulled away his hand leaving Dorian’s cock even as it still throbbed, and even as he trembled, body and heard begging for Adaar, the mage could not help but to wonder if this would be like many of his previous encounters, they’d had their pleasure, now he had to find his own. With the thought in mind, still bent over the table, Dorian brought a shaky hand to stroke his own dick but Adaar grabbed his wrist pulling it away, lifting him from the table with a wicked grin. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Adaar led Dorian onto the table with one of his strong hands at his hips, his other wrapping around the Tevinter’s cock, sat upright with legs dangling over the edge. His thumb ran over his tip, smearing precum as he ducked his head taking Dorian’s length between his lips, tongue running over the underside of his cock. He chuckled with Dorian’s cock still in his mouth and he couldn’t hold back the moan at the sensation, curses tumbled from his lips as his hands tangled in the qunari’s hair. His head bobbed, sucking as Dorian thrust against the Herald of Andraste. Maker, how many other men could say that?!

Heat was all he could feel, Adaar’s warm breath, hot tongue on his cock. The fire in the put of his stomach, building, pooling, threatening. The white hot pleasure, muscles tensing lips running over his cock leading him to orgasm. Stars danced across his vision as he came; drawing in a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, an explosive burst of energy forced from him. Adaar sucked away the lingering beads of come, pumping Dorian for all he was worth, all the while looking up at him through his lashes. His horns seemed to fit nicely on his thighs, positioned just so.

When Adaar finally stood he pressed his lips against Dorian’s, tasting of his own seed, but he didn’t rightly care at that moment.

“I’ll have to get a new robe made for you.” Adaar stated, eyes flicking briefly to the torn blood stained mess at their feet.

“A new robe _and_ wild sex, I may be tempted to hunt dragons more often.” Dorian chuckled. “Will you ever cease to surprise me oh Herald of Andraste?”

“Maybe one day.” Adaar sighed as he pulled him against his chest. “Dorian. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, I just want you to promise me it won’t change what’s between us.”

He was sure that Adaar could feel the way he tensed at the words. Surely he couldn’t know, he couldn’t tell that something had changed, couldn’t have known about the realisation he’d had whilst fighting the dragon. “I promise amatus.”

“Dorian, I-… Can you smell burning?”

He inhaled deeply and it was unmistakable, but it surely couldn’t be the smell of the campfire. “Yes, I can, where’s that coming from?”

“We’ve set the tent on fire.” He stated, not moving from their current position, still wrapped in each other’s arms atop the war table.

“What?!” _The heat, the burst of energy._ “Shit.” 

They both looked around at the corners of the tent and the supporting ropes quickly catching and spreading, before letting go of one another and jumping to their feet. “I think it was me.”

“I thought it was me.” He argued, casting a cone of cold on the larger area of flame, extinguishing a considerable amount of it. Adaar followed his lead dousing the remaining flames in a winters grasp.

“So we both set the tent on fire?” He asked. But they both remained silent as they heard it a concoction of worrying sounds, several pairs of footsteps drawing closer and a quiet creaking as the rope holding the tent aloft creaked, before snapping, sending the whole structure tumbling to the ground.

He fought against the fabric for a moment struggling as it smothered him, but after a while he stopped, a deep laugh ringing out over Cassandra’s concerned yelling. Somewhere close by Adaar was laughing uncontrollably and stood naked under the remnants of the tent. Dorian found the laugh catching. The fabric tugged around him and Adaar appeared before him, rope and a wooden pole caught in his horns and soon Dorian was howling too, the absurdity of the situation catching up to him.

“There was a fire, we came as quick-”The fabric tugged against them but they had little time to respond before it was lifted, revealing the Lady Seeker, who immediately dropped it with a cry. “I can assume you are both unharmed?!”

“We’re fine.” Adaar called as his laughing calmed, still chuckling as Dorian reached up to pull the caught rope out of his horns.

Dorian was surprised to see the fabric lift again, but nowhere near as surprised as he should have been to see the qunari who lifted it, grin spreading over his scarred lips.

“Do you really have no shame?” Dorian asked, voice raising a few octaves. He couldn’t help but notice Cassandra still stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, adamantly facing in the opposite direction.

“Thought you might need these.” Bull stated as he tossed a bundle of clothing at them, winking in his ridiculous, impossible way, before thankfully dropping the tent to give them some privacy.

Dorian looked down at the clothing, their breeches and Adaar’s shirt. _Perfect_ , he thought sarcastically, _exactly what they needed_. With a sigh he pulled on the clothing he had been given. They would have to leave the tent sooner or later and no doubt a small crowd had amassed, the Herald and the magister fucking and then all of a sudden the tents ablaze. Of course there would be a crowd. Even if they snuck out of the back there would be questions, there was nowhere for them to sleep that night.

“Here.” Adaar offered, holding out his shirt with a smile, the blue one he often wore under his robes. “You’re always complaining about the cold.”

Dorian took it graciously, not dwelling on the rip in the front, or the blood splattered on the shoulder, Adaar’s blood. _Even better._ “Everyone in camp heard didn’t they?”

“Probably.” He admitted, as Dorian pulled on the shirt. Adaar cupped his face, caressing it with his thumbs, as he smiled down at him with that secret smile. “You know what I want? I want to send you out there in your breeches and my shirt, with your ruffled hair and moustache. I want us to sit there in each other’s arms, love bites on show, and I want them to see that I am yours.” 

“You’re mad.” 

“Perhaps.” He admitted. “Now, shall we go and face the music?”

With a small smile Dorian answered, “I suppose.”

“Just think, they’re probably all jealous.”

“What do you mean ‘probably’? Look at me; they are most definitely all jealous of you.”


	21. Moves and Counter Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I feel like this chapter is a little bit all over the place, because it'd basically tying up loose ends and moving along. So yeah, it's kind of filler, sorry...

It had not been as bad as he had expected, Varric had removed the inquisition forces that had come to ensure the inquisitors safety, and only the inner circle remained, ushering them into Varric and Bull’s tent with only a few onlookers noticing them. There they had found furs, cloaks and boats, they didn’t fit quite right but they would do for now, it was enough for him to be warm and out of the bloodied shirt, and right then that was all he cared for.  Sera laughed as they emerged, a new joke on her tongue as soon as the last one had finished, and Cassandra was the only one keeping a straight face, if the scowl could be called that. But when he caught her eye she flashed him a small smile.

Wrapped tight in the furs they all made their way to the campfire the sun now barely present beyond the ice tipped landscape, the nights hastily planned festivities were about to begin. Dorian was almost immediately handed a tankard of some dark brew he had obligatorily wrinkled his nose at before discovering it was enjoyable.

After a short while of drinking and joking Adaar disappeared for a moment, returning with Dorian’s boots and the furs he had lent him the day before tucked under his arm.

“You are a saint!” Dorian proclaimed as he shucked the ill-fitting boots and itchy coat, quickly pulling one his own boots and wrapping Adaar’s thick furs around himself, breathing in the familiar smell that was a strange concoction of campfires, lingering fire magic and herbs.

“Is that why you adore...?” Varric asked; an old sentence he had not said in a long time.

“Him? One of the many reasons I doubt I could adore him more.” He saw the smile that pulled at Varric’s lips, as he shook his head fondly. How many months ago had he been so afraid of saying that?

“The two of you,” Cassandra began with hesitation, “It seemed sudden.”

“Are we talking about the same two people?” Bull asked. “Because they’ve been chasing each other’s tails as long as I can remember.”

Sera snorted before stating, “You see I got that one, because their tails are their dicks.”

“Yes, quite.” Cassandra groaned. “I mean, your announcement was sudden. Of course everyone had their suspicions, but you both outright denied it, until you didn’t. If you don’t mind my asking, what changed?”

She looked to Adaar as she asked but Dorian felt the comforting arm on his waist, the Vashoth had learnt that sat amongst friends at the campfire Dorian would not shake that away, would not deny him that touch. The inquisitor spoke quietly, “It wasn’t my decision.”

“Placing all the blame on me amatus?”

With a dark chuckle a brush of lips against his hair Adaar muttered, “You’re the one who almost gave poor Josephine a heart attack.”

“You say that as if she found me in some compromising position, strapped to your bedposts perhaps? I simply stated that we were in fact more than friends, though I’m sure she could have assumed that from our state of undress.”

“You’re right.” He laughed. “Giving you a drink does loosen your lips, ‘so to speak’.”

“So Josie wasn’t bluffing when she said she walked in on the two of you stark naked?” Varric chuckled. “It seems the two of you are becoming quite the pair of exhibitionists.”

“Hey maybe if you lot decided to knock. We shouldn’t have to worry about being naked in the safety of our own rooms.” Adaar argued before Dorian could, instead he smiled, nodding in agreement.

“So where do you plan on being naked tonight?” Bull asked, gesturing to the pile of fabric in the distance that was the singed remains of their tent.

“Not in my tent!” Sera declared loudly. “I’ve already got to deal with her staying up _reading_ ; I’m not gonna listen to them all night _Ah Maker, ah faster, ah the tents on fire!”_

“They can sleep with us.” Varric offered tentatively.

“Woah, Varric.” Bull said, looking taken aback by the suggestion. “I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing, I mean you only had to ask-…” He was silenced when Dorian hurled a small ball of snow across camp, narrowly missing Bull’s face but exploding on one of his horns.

“Snowball fight!” Sera cried.

Dorian protested, claiming that he was simply trying to silence the qunari, but a finely packed ball that could almost be considered more ice, than snow, shattered against the fur on his shoulders, and it was too late the war had already begun, snowballs flying over the campfire, already melting into a sludgy mess before they collided with their intended target.

Cassandra groaned, not joining with the festivities, as she exclaimed, “If our enemies could see you they would believe the leaders of the Inquisition were little more than children. You have to present-”

Everyone froze, snowballs slowly melting in hand as a stray mess of sludge collided with the side of the seekers face. She wiped it away, a snarl pulling at her lips, twisting her scars, hunting out the one who had launched the snowball, but it was glaringly obvious, wicked grin on his lips, even as the fear dawned in his eyes, empty hand still pointed in her general direction, Varric was sly enough to avoid being caught red handed, he wanted to be caught.

Adaar had muttered to him later, whilst they were lying in each other’s arms Bull on one side, Varric snoring like a clap of thunder on the other, _if it had been anyone else who’d thrown it, she’d probably have stormed back to the tent instead of retaliating._ Dorian didn’t think he’d ever seen the seeker laugh like that as her snowball collided with the dwarf, like there wasn’t a weight on her shoulders, but they had all laughed, amongst people he was proud to call friends. He had hoped to do many things when joining the Inquisition, redeeming the name of his country and helping to save Thedas from said country, well, all of that he’d been expecting, or at least hoping to achieve, but to find friends and, and _love,_ he had to admit that had been a bit of a surprise.

-

He was not looking forward to meeting with the blacksmith when they returned to Skyhold, the man detested him, and he had to admit the feeling was mutual. He had been prepared to have the casing crafted before they left for Emprise du Lion and simply slot the tooth into it, but Bull had given him a list of reasons as to why that was a stupid idea, and so he still had the joy of this meeting to look forward to. With a notepad full of scribblings, designs and patterns, neither Tevinter, Qunari nor Tal-Vashoth in design, he ventured to the Undercroft. Unfortunately he had managed to _underestimate_ just how much of a pain in the arse the blacksmith could be.

“ _Two weeks?!_ ”

“At least.” He grunted.

“You must be joking, surely. Its four itty bitty pieces of metal and two chains. I’m sure I could do it myself by this evening!”

“Then why don’t you do it yourself? That’s my offer, there’s a ridiculous amount of detail in your ‘itty-bitty pieces of metal’, I have more important jobs I have to attend to first and you’re asking me to keep this a complete secret from the inquisitor. Two weeks and ten gold.”

“I could have it in gold with silver engravings for that price anywhere else!” He argued, but he knew it was all for naught, the man had disliked him from the moment he had stepped foot in Haven and his opinion of him had changed very little since then.

“Well here you can have your Tevinter runes in plain silver and nothing else.”

“How many times, they are not Tevinter runes, there is barely anything Tevinter about the designs. I am not trying to bind the inquisitor in some sort of ritual. Trust me, if I was I wouldn’t be waiting around for two weeks and paying you ten gold for the pleasure. I could get _far_ more pleasure for far less coin”

“So you’ll pay?”

“Yes.” Dorian agreed with a sigh.

He muttered all of the way to the gardens, his purse considerably lighter for the gold it was now missing. At least his usual chess games with Cullen tended to bring about some enjoyment. When he saw the messenger stood at the table however, instead of the commander, he knew that it wasn’t going to be good news.

“Out with it.” He prompted.

The messenger sputtered slightly, a young boy who couldn’t have been an adult yet. “Message from the Commander Serah, he won’t be able to attend.”

“Did he state his reason?” Dorian already had his suspicions. Templars had a specific scent, one they were unable to hide from a trained mage no matter how hard they tried. Lyrium was an attractive eau de toilette, but one they couldn’t rid themselves of, it lingered, even for days after they’d taken it, and a Templar dependant on the substance constantly reeked of it. Cullen however was beginning to smell like nothing and occasionally like he required a bath, dependant on how hard he’d been training the recruits that morning.

“No Serah, she didn’t say.” _She._ So this wasn’t the Commanders message at all. Lyrium withdrawal finally getting to him?

Leliana had been right about him in one respect, Tevinter had taught him to look for the little signs, minute changes in his surroundings. Whether that was so he could escape an attempt on his life, or find a quick fuck, well, that was irrelevant, but he was good at noticing some of the finer alterations, nowhere near as good as the spy master or the Ben-Hassrath, but he had to confess, he had his ways.

“Very well.”

The messenger scurried away, narrowly avoiding the qunari that emerged from one of the side passages. To say he’d explored almost the entirety of the keep Dorian could never recall noticing the door that the inquisitor emerged from, Morrigan in tow, as he had been informed was the name of the witch. He’d heard the name before and it didn’t take him very long to find the name, in one of Adaar’s books no less, a recount of the battle of Denerim, their very own spy master a leading character.

He watched as she cast a ward over the door, concealing it, and he smiled to himself as he watched it disappear from sight. Clever, concealment wards weren’t difficult to cast, but they could be difficult to detect and decipher if done correctly, and she didn’t seem like the type to half arse a job. At least now he had a little research task to complete, he simply had to know what was behind that door.

When Adaar turned to him he was able to mask his smile as the pleasure of seeing his amatus, and it was only half a lie.

“Kadan, what are you doing out here?”

“I was looking forward to my chess game with the Commander, but it would appear I’ve been stood up.”

Adaar turned to Morrigan quickly and she seemed less than pleased when he muttered, “We can continue our conversation later.”

“Of course inquisitor, but I do still desire to discuss your… condition at some point.” She replied.

Dorian was intrigued by her in at least a scholarly capacity. She’d been at the battle of Denerim when an arch demon was slain, surely she’d helped Thedas more than enough, yet there she was offering up her aid to the inquisition free of charge, not only that she was an apostate raised in the Kocari wilds, surely she had more than a few stories not in the history books.

“Condition?” Dorian asked as she sauntered away, “You’re not ill are you?”

“No, don’t worry about me. She’s just sticking her magic where it doesn’t belong… How about you and I head back to my quarters, I’m sure I could give you a game of chess you won’t soon forget.” He offered, taking Dorian’s arm and leading him away from the garden.

Adaar’s successful dodging of the question only made him even more curious to discover what was lying behind the concealed door.

-

“I don’t think you ever did explain to me, how did a Tal-Vashoth who lived their life as a wandering mercenary manage to design our attire for the Winter Palace?” He asked, carefully moving his knight into position, he was almost certain that Adaar hadn’t seen that his queenside castle was ready for the taking, and was instead too focused on his sole bishop.

“Stories.” Adaar answered as he enacted the move Dorian has been anticipating.

“Of course.” Dorian sighed as if the answer should have been clear to him. With a wicked grin Dorian took Adaar’s castle, watching as the qunari sighed, removing his shirt. Only his breeches, boots, belt and amulet remained and as Dorian looked down at the board he wondered if Adaar was going to take the boots one at the time or if he was wearing anything under those breeches.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d said Dorian wouldn’t soon forget this game of chess. Bull had once described Adaar as lanky by qunari standards, the same as many human mages, tall and lean, if not a tad soft around the edges. But he was still broader than most humans, muscles bunched as he leaned over the chess table shirtless.

“Every town I’d pick up a new book, buy it when I could afford it, take it when I couldn’t. Shokrakar taught me and father to read, so he could get spell books and control his magic, but Tama never bothered, stuck to Qunlat mostly.”

“And your sisters?”

“They both know Trade, but Asala was always the dreamer of the two, Kost was more like Tama.” He answered as he finally moved his piece, taking Dorian’s final rook and watching with disappointment as he removed one of his boots kicking it aside. “That’s hardly fair.”

“When you said strip chess, you said the only additional rule was one item of clothing per chess piece, it is no fault of mine that you’re dreadful at chess and I wear more clothing than you, now is it?”

“I never imagined I’d live to see the day that Dorian Pavus wore more clothes than anyone but a hooker.”

“I feel I should be far more offended than I am, but it’s a profitable business.” He argued moving his piece, drawing ever closer to his victory, with Adaar he didn’t even have to cheat. His counter move took Dorian’s bishop and he sighed as he removed his other boot. That had been a rather pivotal piece.

“You haven’t had a nightmare in a while. At least not like the one I noticed.”

“They come and go as they please. The ones I’ve had have been tolerable.” He answered with a wave of his hand, as he took his turn.

“It’s just occasional?”

“Occasional that I wake screaming, yes.” Adaar moved the piece slowly, taking Dorian’s queen. It left his castle vulnerable but it destroyed Dorian’s previous tactic. He removed his robe knowing that there were other smaller items he could have removed first, but it was his queen, after all.

“The mornings when I leave..?”

“It does tend to be those. But I’ve spent hours poring over the books in the library; no-ones stepped out of the fade physically and then decided to write a book about it, so unfortunately I have nothing to go off.”

“Why only you? I’m a mage too. Surely both-”

“Inquisitor.” Both of them turned to the messenger on the steps. The same boy that had spoken to Dorian earlier, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as the teen stuttered. “Should I come back later?”

“Is it important?” The messenger’s eyes darted to Dorian’s, and then roamed down, running over his body for a moment too long, precious. “You can speak with him here.”

“Lady Montilyet’s contacts have replied, the spymaster’s forces are ready, and the Commander is prepared to march when you give the word. A war council has been called for a half hour from now your worship.”

“Shit, already? Thank you for your message.” Adaar answered waving away the boy.

“Mind explaining what we’re planning a full scale attack against? Corypheus I can only assume, but some details might be nice.”

“You might want to get a good sleep; we’ll be heading for the Arbor Wilds in the morning.” He answered as he climbed from his seat, pulling on his clothing as he wandered about the room, grabbing documents and other items.

“The Arbor Wilds?! And what in the Makers name is there?”

“Whatever Corypheus wants.” He answered with a quick kiss, as he left the room. “Don’t wait for me tonight, this meeting won’t be a short.

 _Good._ Dorian thought to himself. All the more time to break the ward hiding the door in the garden.


	22. The Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a strange chapter, and a short one, that again I'm not sure of. Next time it'll be getting back to usual programming and main quests.

The Pavus estate had a wondrous library. He remembered it fondly, most of his waking moments in the family grounds spent there. It was a testament to just how far back their bloodline spanned, books reaching through the ages, so old he would have to handle them like a living thing, cradled in his arms with care, he could not treat them too roughly for fear they might fall apart.

Sat amongst the books he would study, tirelessly, some of the tomes passed down through generations, some of them gifts, some found when tiny hands gripped his father’s robes with excitement and exclaimed that he must have it, _he must._ Younger looking eyes would still crease at the corners, and a hand would ruffle his hair, as the other removed his hands, straightening the robes, _I’ll see what I can do_. The latter lessened over the years, to simple nods in the hallway, to _would it be possible...?_ Tiny hands learnt more than magic.

The library was mostly his (his father keeping to his study) to do as his he wished, all except for what was hidden behind the iron door, the Pavus crest etched into the metal work, the insignia not much used since the blessed age. His mother had told him when he was so young his magic had not yet manifested itself, despite his best efforts, that everything behind the iron door was strictly off limits. Magical wards guarded the door, hiding it from all but those who knew how to find it. With his parents eyes on his back he continued on.

As he grew so did his magical ability and some would say unfortunately, his curiosity too. As the pride of his parents became less of a constant, less of a need, more of a chore, the bare wall caught his attention more and more, far more than any door would have been able to. Why would a library be off limits? What magics would it hold? Knowing his mother…

It seemed that years of solitary study had conditioned him, and the slaves, for this, as he poured over the books searching for the answer as to how one would go about disabling several wards without serious ramifications. Occasionally slaves would come by, offering food or drink or expressing his parent’s demands that he go and dine with them, but they knew not to bother him too often.

The whole ordeal took longer than he would have liked, detracting from his true studies, but, he convinced himself, he never knew when he would need to counter a ward akin to one of these in the future, this was all valuable research, at least that was how he convinced himself it was a valuable waste of his time. Soon, with careful calculations, spells tried and tested on many lesser doors, he began his work.

It had been the middle of the night, moon and his own magic illuminating the library and nothing more, the garden at Skyhold had been the same that night, as his fingers had brushed over the bricks. The garden was empty no chantry sisters gossiped, or nobles fussed over what little sunlight could be found in the frosty mountains. His fingers searched for the tell-tale tingling, the sign that a ward had been placed, and soon he found it.

It didn’t take that long to disable it, it was only a simple ward, to make sure onlookers didn’t stumble across the contents. He didn’t intend to be there long, Adaar wouldn’t even realise he was missing from bed, in and out, replace the ward.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he remembered last time, remembered the horror when he heard his own name, quiet, hadn’t even seen the candle light on the walls, too busy trying to make sense of the pedestal in the centre of the room. Empty, nothing sat upon it, the whole room was empty. Was there another ward he had to pass?

 _Dorian?_ He had turned quick as a flash his eyes landing on his mother’s scowl, gown pulled quickly over her shoulders, hair and make-up unmade, he had never seen her in such a state of disarray.

 _Mother?!_ With her grey eyes piercing through him he felt no older than five, no more powerful than a new-born nug.

Then her features softened, a smile pulled at her lips, touching her eyes, and Dorian wondered if he preferred the scowl, he had seen the scowl so many times before, directed at himself, and at so many others, but that smile, he couldn’t recall the last time he had seen his mother truly smile, one that touched more than her lips, one that was more than something to flash at the other nobles. More than something to cover the truth and the lies.

 _You took your time._ She hissed. And with that she spun on her heel and left. He always wondered if she had been intoxicated that evening, drunk out of her mind.

Dorian had expected several things when he turned to inspect the room, dusty, old crates covered in cloth, but a working Eluvian had not been on his list. He had seen one before, not intact, of course, and nowhere near as grand, but an Eluvian none the less. Magisters tried to restore them, dreaming of Tevinter’s glory days, back when they could traverse Thedas using mirrors, and nothing more. Of course no magister could keep a grand discovery such as an Eluvian a secret, when one was unearthed it became common knowledge amongst the magesterium soon enough, all of them vying for the chance to restore it to its former glory. They never succeeded.

“I should have assumed it would be the Magister who would break my ward and attempt to plunder.”  Dorian turned slowly, his eyes falling upon Morrigan, a sly smile pulling at her features.

“Firstly, I am not a Magister, and secondly, I had no idea what I would find.”

“I assumed it would be Solas who I found here, ‘tis an elven artefact, after all.”

“Elven? Eluvians originate from Tevinter...” She watched him for a long moment, before sauntering past him, her hand resting on the mirrors edge. “Do you mean to say this is like Corypheus’ orb, another ancient artefact Tevinter has simply stolen from the elves?”

“Precisely.”

“It shouldn’t really surprise me any longer.”

“That your homeland is built upon the ruins of a civilization, all of its achievements stolen?  In a land where elves are slaves and blood magic is used to gain political standing it really should not. But I have been informed you do not share the views of your countrymen.” She said it as if she may not believe it.

“Yet you call me Magister and treat me a fool, I might as well have greeted you as the Witch of the Wilds, that’s what they called you correct? A maleficar in all but name, protected by your involvement in ending the blight. I am no fool.”

“Perhaps, but I believe it would surprise you, Dorian Pavus, just how many mages can be branded maleficar. It would surprise you further to discover just how close they are to you.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure you will find your answer soon enough.”

“So that’s it? You’re going to spin me a riddle, and then leave me alone with an Eluvian.”

“There is nothing more for me to do.” She replied as she turned to leave the room.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the elf infested jungles we’re heading towards tomorrow, would it?”

“Perhaps, ‘tis might coincidental.” She smiled, with that she left the room, words hanging on the air. Dorian wasn’t too fond of her, he’d come to the conclusion quite quickly, but it was becoming more and more obvious as time went on. Actually speaking to her face to face had simply proven that fact.

He had read about the mirrors, about how ancient beings, elves it seemed, and not Tevinters, used their own pocket of the fade to pass between other mirrors, his fingers ran over the shimmering surface, pure magic. He had been in the fade once physically, and it had left him plagued with nightmares, no matter how much he wished to pursue the knowledge, to discover what lay on the other side of the mirror, he would hold for now.

Anyway, he had a suspicion this wouldn’t be the last Eluvian he would lay eyes on, he imagined he would have chance again in the future. How near, he didn’t really want to curse it.


	23. The Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inner circle make their way to the Temple of Mythal, in the hopes of stopping Corypheus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll reiterate this at the end, but after this chapter there'll be a bit of a hiatus, hopefully not too long...

The entirety of the inner circle would be accompanying the inquisitor and the forces to the wilds, though only some would enter the elven ruins, as Dorian had been informed was their destination. No doubt about it, whatever they and Corypheus were searching for it was elven, and not just the pretty remains of some temple. He could probably ask Adaar and no doubt receive a truthful response, but he had more pride than that. That, and the fact that he didn’t want to admit he’d been sneaking around whilst the qunari had been sleeping like a babe.

Six of them would enter the Temple and it wasn’t exactly the most promising arrangement. Himself, Adaar, Solas, Morrigan, Cole and Cassandra, a party heading for chaos if every he saw one. At least he had Cassandra, and Maker he never thought he’d look to Cassandra as a lifeline for tantalising conversation. There was Cole, but there was always a slight chance that he could leave the conversation with the strong desire to retreat to his tent, curl into a ball and not emerge, ever.  An extremely unfortunate side effect of what could be intriguing conversations with the now slightly more human, though no less strange, darling of the inquisition.

It had been argued that only one additional mage was required, but that would mean either leaving Dorian in the midst of the battle and out of the ruins, or removing Solas’ knowledge of all things elfy as Sera would call it. In the end the Inquisitor had argued so vehemently with his advisors, now including the witch, that he really didn’t want to leave Solas behind (apparently leaving Dorian had never been an option) they’d agreed that he was of course the leader of the inquisition and could take as many into the ruins as he wished.

-

As they made their final camp, fighting already underway though they could not reach the ruins that evening, the strangest thing he could think, was not that they were hunting down an ancient elven artefact, whilst simultaneously fighting a darkspawn magister so they could close a gaping hole in the sky. No, it was Vivienne, sat on a log, as the camp was erected around her, sipping on her tea as if there was no threat, as if she was not sat in the centre of a jungle.

“Not aiding in the efforts? Of course you wouldn’t want to mess up that ‘hat’ of yours.” She only looked up to him after she’d placed the tea down on the saucer a preposterous action in the centre of all the commotion.

When she did look up at him she chuckled quietly. “It’s rather amusing, Dorian.”

“Your outfits entertaining, I’ll give you that.” He countered before there was any true argument. Such was the way with Vivienne as he had learned very early on. It was all friendly rivalry but he could find himself quickly outmatched, even with his upbringing, she was used to playing the Orlesian game, often just as brutal as Tevinter’s, far more fluffery and beating around the bush to it.

“The way you sneer at ‘southerners’ pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you’re not a shark and never will be darling.”

“I could have pretended. Wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I’m something I’m not. Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out and desperately hope no one realises what a fraud I am.”

“Such snapping for a fish without teeth.”

“I can’t believe the way you two speak to each other.” Adaar tutted, and Dorian shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips as he felt the arm snake around his waist. Now it would have been stranger for Adaar to keep his hands to himself, there was constantly some part of them touching, whenever possible, and he didn’t object, not in the slightest. Now, instead of fearing it he waited for the reaction, but all he received from Madame de Fer was a slight rise of the eyebrows, more than he had been expecting to be honest.

“My dear inquisitor whatever is the issue? We are having a perfectly civil conversation.”

“It’s true, I’ve heard worse from the gardener back home.”

She sipped on her tea as Adaar excused himself, pressing a quick kiss to Dorian’s lips. Vivienne made no rise, and honestly that was as much a reaction anything. “If you have something to say spit it out.”

“I received a letter the other day.”

“Truly? It’s nice to know you have friends.”

“It was from an acquaintance in Tevinter expressing his shock at the disturbing rumours about your… relationship with the inquisitor.”

“Rumours you were only too happy to verify, I assume.”

“I informed him that the only disturbing thing in evidence was his penmanship.” She replied with a sly smile, she knew the reply that Dorian had been expecting.

“… Oh. Thank you.”

“I am not so quick to judge, darling. See that you give me no reason to feel otherwise.”

He felt the tug on his arm before he heard the words. When he turned to the spirit he couldn’t see his face, covered by that ridiculous hat, but it was evident from his voice that there was something wrong. “Dorian, come.”

“Oh, what does the demon want?”

“He is hurt, you must come.”

“Who is?” Dorian asked as Cole pulled his arm, willing him away.

“ _Three daughters, three warriors, all like Tama. Heart, Peace and Soul. I tried to hide it but she called me a liar, called me Hissrad.”_

“Adaar?! Cole, tell me what’s wrong.” He demanded, but he allowed the spirit to pull him away, to drag him from the camp weaving around inquisition forces.

“ _Now there are two daughters, two warriors. She calls me no more…”_

“Tell me the meaning of this.” He demanded but it was too late. Cole brought them to a standstill on the edge of the camp, feet from where Adaar and Morrigan were evidently in the midst of a heated discussion.

The discussion ended as the mages turned to stare at the intruders, Adaar’s features softening when his eyes fell on the two of them.

“I’m apologise Cole dragged me over here, I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No.” Adaar answered before Morrigan could. “We were just finishing.”

“You will have to face the truth sooner or later, inquisitor.” Morrigan stated as she passed Dorian.

“Cole brought you?” Adaar asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Dorian looked behind him, rather unsurprised to find that the spirit had disappeared. 

With a sigh he answered, “Yes, he assumed you might be thankful if someone intervened in the conversation.”

“I was- am, thank you… Turns out we’re going to be sharing a tent with Cullen and Varric, could lead to an interesting night.”

“If the dwarf stops snoring perhaps, I could barely sleep with his racket beside my ear.”

“You slept like a log, and your own snoring never seems to bother you.” He teased.

“I do not snore!”

“You do! Not as bad as Varric, but you definitely snore, I will prove it to you one day, I swear on it.” He argued, pressing a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “But for now I have to get to the meeting I was supposed to be at before Morrigan interrupted me.”

“Of course.” Dorian said as he waved away the inquisitor, a dumb smile stuck to his lips.

“You made him happy.” Cole said simply, appearing beside Dorian, though he had expected it, it still made him jump, his hand covering his heart as he steadied his breathing. The spirit stood with a wild flower in hand, pruning it, giving it his full attention.

“Cole, what you told me, what did it all mean?”

“He would not want me to tell you. He thinks it would hurt too much if you knew. He doesn’t know who it would hurt. But Varric said that hurting is human, and you let it hurt.”

“Why did you tell me? Do I have to ask him?” Cole remained silent, picking away the leaves on the flower. “Cole? You said three daughters, all like Tama, but Adaar only has two sisters… Was there once a third?”

“ _The resort of the weak mind_.”

“That’s what my father used to-… Cole, why did you say that?”

“It was the last resort. He couldn’t live the lie.”   _I believe it would surprise you, Dorian Pavus, just how many mages can be branded maleficar. It would surprise you further to discover just how close they are to you._

 _Shit._ Adaar wasn’t a blood mage, couldn’t be a blood mage, someone in the inquisition would have found out by now, and all hell would have broken loose. He’d been trained to recognise a blood mage; surely he’d recognise one pressed so closely against him. This was a string of coincidences and a hasty rash conclusion on his part. What was his story anyway, that Adaar had killed one of his sisters using blood magic? Even in his head that sounded utterly ridiculous, completely implausible, so he could only imagine how foolish it would sound if he suggested it aloud.

Adaar who had to be dragged to his tent after leaving Hawke behind. Adaar who would not listen to them, who would not let the empress die. Adaar who would let a dreadnaught be destroyed to save friends, ‘family’. Not that Adaar.

Yet when they all sat around the campfire that evening, strategies and plans thought out and prepared ready to be enacted with the rising sun, the idea had been gnawing at him for an afternoon, festering and growing. The words slipped from his tongue, “Tell me about these sisters of yours.”

“My sisters?” He asked, though there was confusion it was understandable, there was nothing about Adaar’s emotions that suggested anything out of the ordinary. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’ve never had a sibling. Are you the stereotypical protective older brother?”

“I try.” He answered with a chuckle. “But they’re both good with a sword, Kost especially, takes it all very seriously. She’s the oldest of the two, by all of twenty minutes.”

“Twins?”

“Yeah, Tama was lucky, but she’d faced worse under the Qun than twins.” He chuckled. “She was tougher than that.”

“Sometimes you speak of her like she's magnificent, but then you speak of how she called you… Of everything she did.  Well, you seem very mixed.”

“Like your parents aren’t the same?” He asked quietly.

“Ah, well you certainly have me there.”

“There was a time when she did love me, just like she loves Asala and Kost. I don’t know maybe she still does. But then I became a mage and then-… well we argued a lot, Tama and I, Kost too. Asala and father were more understanding about it all.”

“You being a mage?”

“Yeah. Amongst other things…”

“Other things?” He asked cautiously.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but I too prefer the company of men.” He chuckled. “But it was mostly what came with being a mage and-… And all that.” He wished he could say it settled the unease that lay in his chest, wished that Adaar’s words could have outright denied or not been so ominous so open to his twisting mind. Seeds of doubt had been planted, cultivated by a blood mage in all but her title and a spirit of _compassion_ of all things.

The worst part was, even as Adaar pulled him into his arms, Varric snoring and the qunari muttering that although Dorian wasn’t quite _that_ bad, his snoring wasn’t a matter up for debate, the mage smiled. He couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t quell the flutter in his heart, couldn’t dampen the emotions he felt, even as seeds slowly began to grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, leaving it on a little bit of a cliffhanger, but I'm going on a bit a bit of a hiatus. Due to personal reasons I haven't been able to put as much effort into this as I would like, which is a huge shame because it is one of the main things keeping me going and that I really enjoy doing. But unfortunately it seems money, health, university, everything, wants to get in the way, and I've run out of my backlog of chapters, and the ones I'm producing just don't feel right to me and I want to give you guys more than that.  
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments, I can't believe the fact that this has over 270 kudos?! You've really spurred me on, and for that reason I am more than determined to return as soon as possible, and back on form.  
> Thank you again.


	24. Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party make their way through the temple of Mythal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back!!!! Took me a while, but hopefully I'll be getting steadily back into it.
> 
> Because you're probably going to wonder, the reason they can't complete the final ritual is simply because in my play through there was a horrendous bug that meant it took me 30+ attempts and it kept on resetting for no apparent reason. I tried with different characters and eventually it worked for Cole...

Eventually they reached the Temple of Mythal. It had been a less than pleasant affair making their way towards the ruins, and it reminded him far too much of Adamant for his liking. Soldiers’ battling it out, this time against Templars instead of demons and Wardens; but it was still the same premise. Had things been different perhaps the Templars could have been a part of the inquisition, perhaps they could have been allies. Now they were bodies.

Of course then there was the joyous discovery that Corypheus couldn’t be killed as easily as they’d all hoped, and what they were in fact searching for was not an Eluvian, yes there was one, put there was also a well that contained the ancient knowledge of ages of long dead elves all of whom served Mythal. And as if that wasn’t all grand enough, the cherry on the top of the metaphorical cream was that whoever drank from the well gained all of their knowledge, and Corypheus had sent a Templar to do the job. The drinker would be bound to Mythal, but it seemed nobody knew quite what that entailed, or truly cared for the will of a dead goddess. Nobody but Solas, who was apprehensive about the whole affair.

If Dorian had thought he wasn’t fond of Morrigan he was positively cosy with her in comparison to the elf. The two of them where like a bitter old couple, arguing about the ancient elves as if Solas had simply forgotten to wash the dishes. It was a constant back and forth every time either of them opened their mouths. Adaar learned quickly that it was best not to ask for their opinion.

When it came down to following the Templars, or completing the rituals, for once they actually agreed, and Adaar too agreed with them, much to Cassandra’s disdain. It had been obvious which path he would choose, the man was unable to walk past an astarium without completing it, he looked through every occularum to find every blasted shard. He loved puzzles, and maker help them Mythal’s rituals were puzzles, but after a brief, private, conversation with Morrigan, Adaar seemed less than enthusiastic about making their way through the rituals.

His fingers slipped between Dorian’s and he smiled sweetly as they marched from the second ritual to the final, swinging their intertwined arms. Dorian could only imagine the look on Cassandra’s face. It had been becoming more and more obvious as time progressed that the woman wasn’t jealous in the sense that one would normally define it. Instead of being jealous of the one of them for perhaps snatching away the other, she envied the relationship as a whole, envied the closeness, envied the way Adaar would press his forehead against Dorian’s, and the mage would splutter, his golden cheeks turning pink, but he never drew away.

He had resolved to find someone for her the night before as he watched her over the campfire, before realising how impossible the task would be. Speed dating perhaps, though at first speech the warrior woman could make balls shrivel, she had a knack for being… abrasive. What he needed from the speed dating was the ability to speed the relationship forward several months to the point where she’d softened to them, to the point where she’d let them in, to see the softer side that yearned for flowers and forehead touches and all that drivel.

It was ridiculous, that Adaar held his hand, and that it almost felt like a mid-afternoon stroll (and he supposed it was mid-afternoon or there abouts) when they walked through an ancient elven temple, when the world depended on them, when he still didn’t know… Didn’t know if he could trust-…

“ _Drip drip drip. It runs thicker than water.”_ Cole began, but he was quickly silenced by Morrigan. Even then the words sat heavy on Dorian’s heart.

“I have never seen a spirit quite like you Cole, not with my own eyes.”

“I am more human now. You have seen them in books; you have seen many things in books _Witch of the wilds_ but you have seen more with your eyes _. Soul of a god, but not a god, a boy. You can take him no longer.”_

“Yes, quite. How do you do that precisely; see ones fears?”

“I do not see fears; I see what makes people sad, so that I can make them happy. Kieran thinks you are an excellent mother.”

She was silent for only a moment. “So when you look at us all? Do you always see something that is making us sad?”

“Some burn brighter than others, it is not always clear, happiness and sadness mixed together. I can see the happiness too. _Hands tight, cheeks burn, heart races. Like in the stories.”_ If Adaar’s cheeks had not burned before then they surely did when Dorian gazed up at him.

The mage could only smile uncertainly. Doubt was already becoming a sapling as Adaar let go of his hand, stepping up to the final ritual. This one took far longer. Every time he seemed close to completion the lights in the paths would cut out.

“’Tis most strange, perhaps it is testing your will?” Morrigan asked with a short laugh, as Adaar attempted it for the fifth time.

“These rituals are a sacred part of the temple, if you-” Solas began.

“Will you both shut up?!” Adaar hissed. Evidently the puzzle _was_ trying his patience.

It took several more attempts, Adaar trying every conceivable path, the lights on the ground dimming before he could reach the end for what appeared to be no discernible be reason, before Dorian finally spoke up, “Should somebody else have a go?”

Adaar jumped over the railings that surrounded the puzzle, stomping back to them like a stroppy five year old. “Go ahead. If you think you can do better.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just wondering if perhaps…” What was he wondering, weren’t these supposed to be tests for those faithful to Mythal? If that truly was the case they were well and truly fucked. It seemed like the closest thing they might have was Solas, but even then, did the elf actually believe in the elven gods. He didn’t know if he’d ever truly asked, but he doubted it. Far too mainstream, an elf worshipping elven gods.

“We should have followed the Templars.” Cassandra grumbled.

“The elven writings state we must complete these rituals to access the Well.” Morrigan stated.

“I thought you could not read that.” Solas argued.

“Says the elf.” Dorian retorted. “So both of you knew something, and neither of you decided to mention it, hm?”

“Thank you.” Adaar said gesturing wildly. “My point exactly. From now on, no holding back information, everything is put out in the open, because Maker help me, if I find out about it later, _after_ it would have been useful.”

“Perhaps you would like to be the first to share?” Morrigan asked.

“Don’t start with-”

He fell silent as they all heard it, the ringing that accompanied the end of a puzzle, and the click of a door. They all turned to Cole, floppy hat hiding most of his face but his smile. “I did it.”

“Yeah.” Adaar chuckled, usual smile returning to his features. “Good job. Let’s get to that well then.”

-

They continued onwards, Morrigan very helpfully pointing out statues and carvings, and Solas correcting her on several pieces of misinformation. It was all remarkably interesting he had to admit. He was more than likely the first Tevinter to step foot in a temple such as this, well, at least the first one who hadn’t gained access by breaking the door down with a large fireball. But that was their way wasn’t it, especially it seemed, when it came to elves. Blow the door down in a rather impressive display of power and magic, take everything and claim it as their own, turn what was left to dust. He was learning more today about elves from a human than Solas had ever indulged him in. One off-handed comment on slavery and apparently you’re as good as a slaver. Any attempt at an apology ended in Solas’ informing him that he must free the slaves to repent of his sins, or words that may well have been as much. Evidently the elf didn’t realise he was as good as asking Dorian to kill himself. Or perhaps he knew all too well, perhaps Solas was even less fond of him than his sour mood already gave him reason to believe.

He sighed as they pushed their way through another set of doors. That was foolish thinking, as much as he and the elf weren’t exactly friendly, he didn’t believe Solas the kind of person to plot assassinations. What he needed was some time alone, some time to figure everything out. There was too much buzzing in the back of his mind, too much that he still needed to answer. Nightmares, rifts, blood magic. He just needed to sit in his nook for a short while and mull it all over. Perhaps with a glass of wine. He heard Adaar had managed to requisition some Agreggio Pavali and if that was true he’d do far more than kiss the man.

The great doors slammed shut behind them, a sound that did not bode well, only emphasised when Adaar muttered, “We’re being watched.”

“Vanavis.” A voice announced, a hooded figure appearing on a ledge high above them. Not Templar, judging from the shape and the glimpse he caught of tattoo on their face. The elves who guarded the Temple. Perfect, somebody else who no doubt wanted them dead. Everyone in Thedas held some kind of grudge. “You… Are unlike the other invaders. You stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own. You bear the mark of magic which is… Familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

“They’re our enemies.” Adaar answered. “As well as yours.”

The elf calmed slightly at that. “I am called Abelas. We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek, like all who come before you, you wish to drink from the Vir’Abelasan.”

“’The place of the way of sorrows.’ He speaks of the well.” He could hear Morrigan whisper not too subtly.

“It is not _for_ you. It is not for _any_ of you.”

“I’m still not grasping this.” Adaar stated. “You’re elves from ancient times? Before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?” Of all the history lessons for him to remember…

“The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan.” _Wait, what?!_ “We Elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to the sanctuary closed, our time was over.”

“Wait… That’s not right.” He found his own voice arguing. “What are you saying?”

“You would not know truth. Shemlen history is as short as the pool of your years.” He decided to ignore the fact the fact that it sounded almost like an insult.

“What did the Imperium do then? Are you saying it wasn’t a war?”

“The ‘war’ of carrion feasting upon a corpse, yes.”

It was _supposedly_ one of Tevinter’s greatest conquests, the destruction of elven civilization, driving them all to alienage’s and slavery. Ridiculous… That the greatest thing a country as a whole could succeed in was near destroying another race, and even then it was their own damn fault. The Imperium was simply a vulture, picking at what remained. Clawing at the tatters of a civilization that had already run itself into the ground, and then claiming itself the victors for centuries to come.

“We only awaken when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We must endure. The Vir’Abelasan must be preserved.”

“We didn’t come here to fight you.” Adaar explained. “Or to steal from you. We simply aim to stop Corypheus, and his minions _are_ here to do exactly that.”

“I believe you. Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done you will permitted to depart… And never return.”

“I’ll admit fighting the last of their kind… Does not thrill me.” Dorian announced, he didn’t want to be one of the ones to finish what Tevinter had at least taken the credit for starting.

Solas chipped in, “For once you have made a point on elves where I actually agree. This is our goal, is it not? There is no reason to fight these Sentinels.”

“Consider carefully.” Morrigan countered. “You must stop Corypheus, yes. But you may also need the well for your own.”

It appeared that Adaar ignored Morrigan’s statement, much to the relief of every other occupant of the room, when he declared, “I will accept your offer.”

“You will be guided to those you seek.” Abelas explained, as he turned away from them. “As for the Vir’Abelasan… It will not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

“No!” Morrigan cried. In a shift of magic so fast and strange he could have blinked and missed the transformation a crow burst from where the witch had stood, flying forth in a burst of purple sparks. He’d not had much opportunity to study shape shifters it could be a strange and dangerous magic to attempt, leaving many of the ill-prepared mages who attempted it deformed almost beyond all recognition. He heard of incidences even with those who mastered the magic. The way she changed her shape so easily, so fluidly, well, hedge mages were known for dabbling in forbidden magic.

For now it seemed all they could do was follow the old elf that motioned for them to follow, hobbling forward as he leaned heavily on her staff. This was going to take far longer than it seemed they could afford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone who left nice comments and kudos and all, spurring me on and wishing me the best. My life isn't quite on track, but I realised that this is one of the things that really brings me joy, and I want to keep going. So thank you.


	25. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is decided who shall drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a huge thank you to the people who left comments welcoming me back. And 300 kudos?!

Abelas’ words still clung to him. They had struck a chord deep within, not the sort that one would expect from a Magister, something different. There was almost a sense of relief, it wasn’t their fault.

“Something on your mind?” Solas asked as they followed the aged sentinel through the temple, having brought down a small group of Templars, they must be drawing close to the well.

“He said the elves destroyed themselves, before my countrymen came along. Could that be true? I can hardly believe it.”

“That makes what the Imperium did acceptable?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. But I suppose it’s somewhere to start.” He couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw the sliver of a smile on the elves lips.

The old elven woman complained again, calling out to Adaar with a temper as he strayed away, going to inspect some of the artefacts and markings that lined the walls. He was the inquisitive sort, fit his title often when it came to learning new things. However Dorian could see Cole, and though he was unsure what his new more human nature meant, he was still going unnoticed as he skirted around the edges of the room, picking up the items that Adaar couldn’t under the eye of the sentinel. It brought a smile to his lips, turning to a grin when Adaar and Solas noticed that Cole was doing it, the Qunari smiling, the elf, not so much.

“He has been spending too much time with Varric.”

“Oh hush.” Dorian instructed. “He’s spent just the right amount of time with Varric. It’s good for him.”

Solas did not reply, simply casting a frown in his general direction and he assumed that any positive emotion he may have gained from the elf had been destroyed. A shame, almost.

The elven woman guided them through doorways that were actually walls, and continued to instruct them in pure elven. She reminded him extraordinarily of a distant aunt Dorian had, only there for the grander parties, then again it seemed almost everyone in Tevinter was related if you travelled back far enough. An unmarried woman, Tevinter supremacist through and through. He never knew if she’d once been married and born children long before his life and she was so ancient they’d all moved away, or if she’d simply never followed the laws of Tevinter. Either way, the sharp click of her tongue, hunched over a staff, not a lick of Common touching her words. They were similar, in a twisted sort of way. Tevinter supremacist and ancient elf of Arlathan. The maker worked in mysterious ways.

When she spoke one final time her words were softer, and Solas replied in kind, dipping his head ever so slightly. “Our goal is through these doors.”

They all followed his direction, Adaar pushing open the high doors, revealing open surroundings. He sighed, breathing in the fresh air. “The well of sorrows.”

“Andraste guide us.” Cassandra murmured as she followed the Qunari down the steps, pausing for only a moment to inspect the great sight before them, landscape, old and unkempt, like the wilds they had fought through, but still strikingly different.

 “How has such magic lasted?” Dorian asked.

“Mythal endures.” Solas stated, and Dorian couldn’t discern if it was an answer or if he was simply declaring it to the wind.

As they made their way down the steps they hear the voice ring out. Templars. “Fight on! An army of these bastards won’t stop us!” Then they were running pushing towards the source of the voice, arriving only in time to see the last of the sentinels receive a blade through the chest.

“Samson! Ser- watch out!” One of the Templars cried as they approached, and it shocked Dorian for a moment just how normal they all sounded. He’d expected the lyrium infused creatures to have the courtesy to sound at least less than human. Usually they struck them down before they had a chance to speak, or they were so far gone they were little more than mindless thralls.

As if it was not insulting enough that they didn’t foam at the mouth like many of their brethren, Samson turned to them calmly, announcing, “Inquisitor. You’ve got a damned long reach. We come to the back end of nowhere, and here you are.”

“What can I say? I like to travel.”

“You keep getting in over your head, don’t you? Corypheus chose me twice. First as his general, now as the vessel for the well of sorrows.”

“Congratulations.” Adaar said sarcastically, causing a sneer to pull at Samson’s features. “I chose the chicken for lunch but it doesn’t give it any divine right.”

“You dare… You know what’s inside the well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour a world… I give it to Corypheus and he can walk into the fade without your precious anchor.”

“And once Corypheus has that power, you, and the rest of the Templars will just slow him down.”

“Is that the best you can do? You’re no match-” Samson was struck suddenly by a fireball, stumbling backwards slightly before regaining his footing, red energy swirling about his form.

“You’ve already given me your plot.” Adaar stated, staff outstretched. Dorian looked down at him in surprise. “How about we get idle threat out of the way and skip to the part where I show the best I _can_ do?”

Samson snarled, “Men, to arms!”

Dorian barely had enough time to grip his staff before a Marksman loosed an arrow, but he had set a barrier in time, and the projectile pinged off with little interference, colliding with a rock and shattering. Solas too had set a barrier, managing to encapsulate the entire party in the protective spells with no need for Adaar to waste further mana. It was instead put to good use, plucking a boulder straight from the fade, before hurling at the archer, knocking them flat. Cole made quick work of them, plunging his blades into their neck.

The other Templars went down easy enough, Cassandra bringing her sword down on a shadow as soon as they reappeared, a fire ball sending them tumbling to the ground. Solas and Cole finished off the lieutenant as the spirit appeared, slitting the Templars throat.

Metal clashed, and Dorian spun in time to catch Adaar pushing back Samson’s sword with the blade on the end of his staff. Even then, he was far too close for comfort. The Tevinter shot a simple blot of electrical energy at the Templar, all that he could muster with what remained of his mana, but enough to distract. In that split second, Adaar righted himself, hand outstretched he aimed just behind Samson, opening a small rift. He was pulled backwards with the force of the fade gripping onto him.

“Not the well, you wretch. You can’t take it from Corypheus. You mustn’t…” He groaned before dipping out of consciousness.

“He’s still breathing.” Cassandra stated with raised eyebrows as she leaned over him, not daring to get too close, sword still drawn.

“That particular combination of magic will do that, knock them right out, a spark is really all that’s needed*. How did you know?” Adaar asked turning to Dorian.

“Frankly, I didn’t.” He admitted.

“Good guess then.” He chuckled. “He’ll be out of it for a little while. We’ll take him back to Skyhold for judgement.”

As if the end of the battle were a signal Abelas burst into their sights, from some hidden pathway. He stopped only for a moment, enough time for Adaar to shout his name, but it didn’t slow him at all as he ran towards the precipice. Maker don’t say he was going to jump?! But the second his leg reached out into thin air, a boulder came up to meet it, several more rising with it, all catching his feet as he ascended the ever materialising steps to what Dorian could only assume was the well everyone spoke of.

Adaar followed with little hesitation, and Dorian was pleased to find that after Abelas has left them the stones remained in place, a fixed stair well. He didn’t believe he had the stomach to put all of his faith in a floating rock and hope it rose to save his life. As it was, when he peeked over the edge of the steps, he immediately wished he hadn’t, his stomach feeling rather unsettled, so instead he focused on the inquisitors back, sprinting ever higher.

When he stopped it took him a moment to take it all in. Morrigan stood before them all, and he could only vaguely remember having seen the crow fly past, more focused on not stumbling and falling to his death really. But it was what stood behind her that stunned him for a moment, a great Eluvian, grander than any he had ever seen, and functioning from the shimmer on the glass, stood imposingly behind a placid pool. The well, ages of elven knowledge held within. The Imperium would kill to see this. Of course it was an ancient Magister who had killed countless people to get here, point proven.

“So the sanctum is despoiled at last.” Abelas sighed.

“You would have destroyed the well yourself, given the chance.” Morrigan argued.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!”

“Fool! You’d let your peoples legacy rot in the shadows!”

Sighing Adaar looked up all eyes on him, “Morrigan’s right, Samson seemed to think the well was valuable. It could help.”

“I care nothing for your petty conflicts shemlen.”

“Well perhaps now is the time to begin caring.” He suggested with more force. “Corypheus will return, and the power would be far safer in our hands than his.”

“Do you even know what you ask? As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years they would pass their knowledge on… Through this. All that we were. All that we knew it would be lost forever.”

“I understand it can’t be easy, but you’d rather _destroy_ all of that knowledge, than pass it on?”

Abelas remained silent, and it was instead Solas who spoke. “There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

“Elvhen such as you?” Abelas asked, and Dorian couldn’t decipher whether it was distrust or general dislike that tinged his voice.

“Yes. Just as I.” Solas answered, as if he had not heard the tone. But it seemed to suffice, calming the sentinel somewhat.

“You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire, to partake in the Vir’Abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

“If you’ll allow it…” Adaar answered hesitantly.

“The Vir’Abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend.” Abelas replied, before turning and walking away, and Dorian had to wonder if that was permission or not. Thankfully he turned. “Brave it if you must, but know you this: You will be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound?” Morrigan asked. “To a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?”

“Bound, as we are bound, the choice is yours.”

“Are you leaving the Temple?” Adaar asked, concern touching his voice.

“Our duty ends. Why remain?”

Solas answered, “There is a place for you lethallin… If you seek it.”

“Perhaps there are places the shemlen have not touched.”

“The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history.” Dorian admitted. “You might be the last to know the truth.”

“Would the ‘elves’ of your lands listen to the truth?”

“They might.” Oh Maker take him, what was he suggesting here, a slave uprising… Perhaps. “Would it hurt to try?”

Almost as if Abelas had read his mind he smiled weakly, as he answered, “It very well may, shemlen. Yes. It may be that only Uthenra awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken. If fate is kind.”

“You could come with us. Help us.” Adaar suggested. “Corypheus killed your people…”

“We killed ourselves, a long time ago.” Abelas corrected, as he turned finally walking from the group, leaving them alone with the well.

“Well that was all rather melodramatic.” Dorian muttered.

“He meant to watch forever. His name means sorrow.” Cole murmured.

“I thought you had been quiet for too long.” Cassandra added with a slight smile even though a scowl somehow managed to crease her brow.

“Can we please return to the task at hand?” Morrigan demanded, only a slight hint of anger rising in her voice. When she sighed her voice became more placid, “You’ll notice the intact Eluvian, I was correct on that count at least.”

“So can Corypheus still use it?” Adaar asked.

“You’ll recall I told you each Eluvian requires a key. The Well _is_ the key. Take its power and Mythal’s last Eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass. I did not expect the well to feel so… hungry.”

“That doesn’t exactly instil confidence in me.” Adaar joked, but Dorian could see the concern in his features.

“Knowledge begets a hunger for more…” She stated, voice soft, low, eyes drawn to the well, almost like a possessed thing, and Dorian could see Cassandra’s hand twitch on her hilt.

“So let’s address the druffalo in the room. Who’s going to do this?” Adaar asked, Morrigan’s eyes snapping from the well to the qunari beside her.

“I am willing to pay the price the well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

“Or more likely to your own ends.” Solas announced, and honestly he was the one to say it, but Dorian was certain he was not the only one thinking it, judging from the way Cassandra’s hand still rested on her sword.

“What would you know of my ends, elf?”

“You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted.”

“Solas?” Adaar asked, “Willing to drink?”

“No, do not ask me again.”

“Okay… I don’t think there’s much point in asking.” Adaar questioned, looking down at Dorian.

“No. A human from Tevinter scoops up the last bit of elven knowledge. I can’t be that man.” Adaar sighed despite knowing what the answer would be. “Amatus. I don’t want to risk losing you to a well, or having you bound to some Elven god. Dead or not, I’d prefer not to take that risk.”

“Enough deliberation.” Morrigan demanded. “Give me your decision.”

“We’re stood debating who should gain ancient elven knowledge, a human or a qunari, when really it should be neither… But if it has to be one of us… Looking at it, listening to it, that’s not just knowledge from the ancient priests. It’s their will too.”

“And how would you know such a thing?” Morrigan asked.

“Give me credit. That’s what Abelas was saying; anyone who drinks from the well is put under a compulsion.”

“That does match the legends, though none of them state what such a compulsion would entail. I would still drink from the well. But you are right, we must be cautious.”

Sighing Adaar stepped back. “It’s all yours.”

Moving toward the water before the qunari could change his mind, Morrigan stepped in without reservations, even as Cassandra’s grip tightened on her sword and Dorian thought of who else would disapprove when the news reached camp. Vivienne would have Adaar’s head, no doubt about it. An apostate, nay, a hedge mage, with this much power. However, she would be blissfully unaware to the fact that either way that was the case.

Blue light danced off of the witch’s skin as Adaar came to stand amongst the group, muttering, “Whatever god is listening, don’t let me regret this.”

She smiled as she submerged herself in the pool, the whole group watching with trepidation. There was barely enough time to shield himself as the wave crashed over them all, sending him stumbling as he tried to keep his footing, the well propelling its contents outwards like a tsunami. Perfect, he hadn’t been prepared to get wet; hair clinging to his forehead, eyeliner was beginning to run no doubt.

Adaar was the first to right himself, the wave probably a mere splash to the qunari, and he had dashed to Morrigan standing over her as she spluttered Elven at him. When she eventually climbed to her feet, rather unsteady, though she denied the inquisitors aid, her speech had returned to one the majority of the group could understand. “I… I am intact. There is much to sift through… But now we can-“

She fell silent as the blue light that had bathed her when she first stepped into the well began to stir once again, not only wrapping around her  but everyone who stood within the well. Small strings of energy dancing around them. Whilst all too focused on the light that trailed around them Morrigan cried, “Corypheus!”

In the time it took for them to turn, he was already gaining; apparently the ridiculous bridge meant nothing to him, simply flying towards them at great speed. He may have almost found the sight comical if it didn’t spell almost imminent death.

“The Eluvian!” Morrigan instructed, and Adaar wasted little time in ushering them all through, Morrigan first.

“Get through that mirror!” Dorian instructed, as he saw Adaar stood beside it evidently waiting until last. “I will not wait like I did at Adamant!”

“Go, I’ll follow I promise.”

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” He growled.

“I promise, I’m coming.” He ushered in Cassandra who wore the same scepticism.

“If you don’t, I swear I’ll kill you.” Dorian replied as Adaar pressed his hand against his back effectively pushing him through the mirror.

“Wouldn’t expect any less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I just feel the need to explain the combo that means using a shock ability and then pull of the veil puts an enemy to sleep, because I played a rift mage and had no idea until I was doing research...
> 
> Also I fought for a long time over who was going to drink from the well, in the canon playthrough it was actually Kadan.


	26. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tide recedes, giving way to a moment of calm.

The land they stumbled into was populated entirely by mirrors, most of them destroyed or simply glass, the shimmer long lost. Some of them stood on grand pedestals, like the one that they had just stepped out of, but many just stood simply on the ground, and he wondered if all of the pedestals were temples, or important structures. Or perhaps once were. They were probably long forgotten, ruins now.

Morrigan marched on, heading straight towards one specific mirror, how she knew the location in the sea of mirrors he had no idea, they all looked indistinguishable. As the group slowly shuffled onwards, he remained rooted, standing beside the mirror for a few moments longer, waiting for the inquisitor to show himself.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait very long. He jumped backwards as a figure burst through the mirror, and was more than pleased to see the familiar orange hair and horns stumbling forward. As he leaped forward to help Adaar regain his footing he heard the crash behind him and turned sharply, but could only see the remnants of glass in the mirror, smashed beyond use.

“What happened?”

“There was something in the Well, it stopped Corypheus. What did it mean?” Adaar asked as he caught his breath, righting himself. “The Tevene you said.”

“Oh, ‘you’ll be the death of me’.” He answered. Adaar chuckled as they caught up to the group, Cassandra smiling as she saw them both safe. “Hoping it was some sort of confession?”

“Why? What exactly would you have to confess?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and an almost knowing smile.

“Never you mind.” As they continued to walk through the tiny pocket of the fade Adaar slipped his hand into Dorian’s. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Not being possessed by the spirit of an ancient elven god I suppose. I mean, twos company, but when Mythal’s the third, I imagine it could be quiet the crowd.”

“I can imagine so too… So does this count as the fade or not. Because if so, this is my third time now and I think I deserve some sort of loyalty scheme.”

“This realm is separate from the fade.” Solas corrected.

“Spoil sport.” Adaar muttered, drawing a chuckle from Dorian. “Still pretty impressive for a qunari.”

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked.

“We’re not meant to dream the same as you lot. Not sure if that’s true, I’ve never seen how you dream, but apparently the fact that nobody’s ever come across a qunari in the fade says something.”

“I have read that somewhere, I assumed they were making it up.”

“Yeah, me too. Especially with the discussions Solas and I have been having.”

“Honestly I didn’t think the two of you spoke.”

“We do. Rift mages got to stick together, and I’ve been planning a little something.”

“Oh, will I be made aware of this little something at any point?”

“Yes, when the planning is finished, so fairly soon, I hope. But it’s a surprise, of sorts. I’m hoping you’ll be open to the idea.”

“I- Is the surprise for me. I wasn’t expecting you to agree. I was joking in all honesty.”

“Well it is for you, you’ve foiled my plan, in part.”

“I look forward to discovering the extent of it. At least I assume I should look forward to it.”

Their conversation was interrupted, the group coming to a stand-still by a functioning Eluvian, the only one Dorian had seen thus far, and so he could only assume it was the one in the gardens at Skyhold. They all stumbled through the mirror, Dorian insisting that Adaar go ahead of him this time, and for once the stubborn qunari caved. When the Tevinter eventually passed through the mirror, essentially falling into Skyhold, Adaar was waiting with open arms, catching him, and bringing him close as if he’d barely tripped. As a smile spread across his lips they both let out a laugh.

-

After that there was of course the task of explaining the whole affair to Leliana and Josephine, the former promptly sending a bird with a letter that called for a hasty retreat. Dorian couldn’t recall being at a war table meeting since he’d arrived from Redcliffe, and he’d never really had much of a mind for politics, another reason the Magisterium was no place he wanted to be. That was also apparent now as they all plotted, and he wasn’t the only one who shared the lack of interest. Cole stood in the furthest corner, and Adaar looked positively bored as the spy master and ambassador discussed trade that had occurred in their absence and Dorian could only wonder if he was always such a delight.

“Perhaps, if you Ladies don’t mind,” Dorian began, cutting a conversation short. “The sun has long since set and we’ve spent the entire day fighting, traipsing through Elven wilderness, ruins and Temples, and trying not to be brutally murdered by ancient elves, red lyrium Templars and Corypheus himself. If it’s alright by you I think we’d all fancy a bath and a good rest.”

Looking to one another Josephine smiled as Leliana nodded her head curtly. The ambassador answered, “I’m sure we can continue this tomorrow. After all, you _have_ earned your rest.”

It was true, Dorian thought as they ascended the steps to their quarters; _their quarters_ still sent a tingle down his spine. Adaar held an arm around his waist, but it was loose, and he could tell the qunari was almost dead on his feet, and he was not far behind.

Still, as they entered the room arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, inviting more. Lips ran over the line of his jaw, hands caressing his skin, leaving it tingling. They removed one another’s clothes slowly, lazily, crawling back against the bed with long languid motions. Dorian pressed Adaar against the bed, yawning as he did so, and the qunari chuckled, a yawn breaking the sound.

Flopping forward, he laid against the qunari’s chest, a ‘hmph’ escaping him as the weight pressed against him. All thoughts of teasing lost as he felt the rise and fall of his amatus’ chest beneath him, breathing steady and even, lulling him to sleep. A lazy arm slung over his waist easing him over and he groaned momentarily as he was rolled away ever so slightly, head resting against the Vashoth’s shoulder, allowing Adaar unrestricted breathing, a Tevinter no longer pressing on his lungs.

-

When he opened his eyes he was sure that he had only closed them a moment ago, just a quick rest, but the sun light was violent against his lids. A big hand stroked up and down his back and he hummed like a pleased house cat. It made him even less inclined to open his eyes when he was already receiving such treatment. He stretched lazily, bones creaking, and received a quiet chuckle.

“Good morning beautiful.” His response was almost a purr. “I have a meeting soon.”

“How soon?” Dorian asked groggily, subjecting his eyes to the morning light.

“Imminently. But the bath is full of warm water, and I’m sure you could heat it up easily with a little bit of pyromancy.”

“I’d much rather return to sleep.” He yawned, gentle fingers curling his moustache as his mouth fell closed, a quiet breathy chuckle falling from the inquisitor.

“It’s almost midday.” Adaar argued.

“Your point? So long as it’s still morning it’s far too early for my liking.”

“Perhaps I could persuade you.” He suggested, lips running over his jaw, teeth catching his neck.

Smiling against his lips, Dorian draped his arms around the qunari, drawing himself closer wrapping his leg around Adaar’s. When the knock at the door interrupted them he simply turned and shouted “No!” at the wood, not even bothering to move away. Adaar laughed beneath him, making his shoulders shake.

The reply was a quiet and rather startled male voice. “I have a message for the Inquisitor.”

“If they must.” Dorian sighed against his chest.

Adaar was far kinder, calling “Come in.”

Dorian looked to him in surprise for a moment; they were only covered from the waist down by the sheet. As the messenger stepped into the room Dorian recognised him immediately, the boy who had walked in on their game of chess before the Arbor wilds.  Dorian raised an eyebrow at the boy, who spluttered slightly at the gesture.

“I’m sorry Serrahs, Ambassador Montilyet has requested the Inquisitors urgent presence.”

“Thank you, Max. Tell her I’ll be there shortly.” Adaar stated and the boy left with a bow.

“Care to explain why you’re inviting messenger boys into our bedroom now?” Dorian asked, voice completely devoid of anger.

“Sorry, I should have thought, I know you don’t like people seeing us together, next time I’ll-”

“No, don’t start being ridiculous. I- I don’t think that at all, it’s… I’m beginning to find myself quite lost without your presence. Deid lare omnia.”

“That certainly was a confession.” He murmured, brushing away Dorian’s hair.

“It certainly was not, a big head would not suit you. So about the messenger…”

“He’s seen us like this before, and you can tell he likes what he sees, can’t blame him.” He added with a chuckle, as he ran his fingers over Dorian’s shoulder. “Might as well give him something for his time.” Dorian gave him a light slap.

“Didn’t think you the type for exhibitionism.”

“I’m not usually, but that kids been through a lot, just trying to let him know it’s normal.”

“What do you mean? Two men? He doesn’t hide his preference, eying both of us up.”

“Two _mages_ , more than anything. I had a chat with him a little while ago. Leliana thought I might be interested in hearing what he had to say… That boy was meant to be at the conclave, the youngest child of the Trevelyan family and a mage who managed to escape the circle when they all started to fall apart, but they decided it would be too dangerous, sent his brother instead. He died there.”

“Trevelyan you say? That boy and I might be related, not first cousins or anything, but I distinctly remember a Trevelyan along my family tree.”

“Really?”

“Yes, genealogy is extremely important in Tevinter… This has quite killed the mood, hasn’t it?”

 “Unfortunately. Perhaps I should go and speak with Josie.” He sighed slipping out of the covers.

He watched as Adaar pulled on his robes, loose fitting things from his Valo-Kas days that he wore when he really couldn’t bear the grey attire commissioned for him, and Dorian was more than glad for those days. Though the robes were old fashioned by most standards and ill-fitting, there was something charming about them, they didn’t follow the conventions of circle robes or Tevinter. They were the robes of an apostate, a hedge mage, no doubt about it. A few years ago he would have been a Templars worst nightmare no doubt.

“I have a list of things to do.”

“Like wise.” Dorian stated, remembering the necklace hopefully in Harritt’s possession, even though it had only been just shy of a fortnight.

“In that case we can pick this up again later?” Dorian kissed him as way of reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few things about this chapter I'm unsure of, mainly the fact that it's filler, but that's because the next chapters have absolutely destroyed me to write for more than one reason. I have loads of deadlines coming up in the next couple of days so hopefully the Saturday update still goes according to plan.


	27. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matters of the heart are a complicated sort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter. The next is much longer but this seemed like the best place to split it.
> 
> Without wanting to spoil too much... WARNING for transphobia and brief misgendering...

Settling comfortably into his chair Dorian had never been fonder of his alcove. Not even the Fallow Mire had reminded him of how glorious it was to simply sit alone with a book, sheltered and dry, a fire roaring in the corner even in the middle of the day, brushing away the . However, as he sat alone he couldn’t swat away the thoughts that flittered around his mind; the book that sat in his lap was unread.

The events at the Temple had been on his mind for some time when Adaar ascended the library stairs. Abelas and his kind so wrapped in tradition that in the end it led to nothing but their loss. The elves had brought their own demise upon themselves, the once great mysterious race, full of magic and intrigue, had brought about their own downfall. Surely, Dorian thought, in ages he could only dream of, could they not speak of the Imperium in the same way? The once great magocracy, which ran itself into the ground. It would be the same; no doubt the Qunari’s would be the ones to strike the killing blow, and the ones to appear in the history books as the conquerors of the once great nation.

“Troops are beginning to draw back, as soon as we took out Samson the Templars started to lose interest.” Adaar stated. “They should be back within the next couple of weeks… Is something bothering you, you look lost in thought?”

“I’ve been given a lot to think about.”

“Would you like to talk?”

The Inquisition was never going to be a permanent fixture, or so Dorian had anticipated. He would either be cast away at first sight, a Tevinter mage, and as such offer what assistance he could supply, or would remain until the threat was defeated. He had never added a contingency plan for _this. This_ had never even graced his mind when he’d envisioned what the Inquisition could possibly have in store for him. No, the last thing he’d expected was that the bumbling Qunari who gracelessly stumbled into the Redcliffe Chantry that day, closing a rift and fighting demons with magic he couldn’t correctly wield, would find a way to quietly grasp his heart, and hold it steady as he, the scion of house Pavus, blundered through the ridiculous thing he craved with every fibre of his being.

“Perhaps that might be best.” Adaar made a move to sit, but Dorian waved and instead stood beside him. “What happened at the Elven Temple, it’s got me thinking… I should go back, shouldn’t I? To Tevinter. Once this is all done… If we’re still alive.”

“G-Go back?” He couldn’t look Adaar in the eyes as he said it. For all that it felt like this was the right thing to do why did it feel like he was doing something wrong?

“All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it? Nothing.”

“How is this about the Temple?”

“Abelas, he said the Imperium isn’t what destroyed the elves. My people would never accept that, it would reduce us to scavengers, destroy our legacy no matter how terrible. But we should accept it, take our history down a peg, and confront the legacy hanging over us like a shroud. Maybe not all of us want to, but that can be altered.” He finally looked to Adaar a small smile tugging at his lips. “If you can change minds, so can I.”

“You would just..? What about..?” It pained him to see that look on Adaar’s features, and he so desperately wanted to reach out, to smooth away the creases and say, ‘no, of course I’ll stay’.

“Us? Trust me, amatus, it would do me no pleasure to leave your side.” He did let his hand slip into Adaar’s, a small smile tugging at the mages lips. “You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world. How can I not consider some of my own?”

“Why don’t I go with you?” He asked without a heartbeats delay, it brought forth a quiet chuckle, one full of fondness.

“You know they’re not all that fond of Qunaris in Tevinter, and I simply can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’m offering to come with you.”

“The Inquisition still needs you, the world needs you… No matter how tempting your offer this is something _I_ need to do.”

Adaar was quite for a moment, leaning forward he leant his forehead against Dorian’s, before he spoke, voice hushed. “If that’s what you have to do… I understand.”

“There you go, breaking my heart… _You_ inspired me with your marvellous antics. You’re shaping the world. How could I aspire to do any less? If it means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there’s hope even for my homeland?”

Adaar sighed, a breathy laugh catching on the end. “You’re such a romantic, Kadan.”

Dorian chuckled quietly, he had been called many things, but a romantic, that was-

He stopped, his train of thought lost as suddenly his mind latched onto something it had otherwise been far too foolish to see, far too preoccupied with the end of the world and all manner of things. Mind racing. _Kadan, my heart. Heart, peace and soul._ Kadan Adaar. It was so blindingly obvious that he felt like an imbecile for not seeing it. He called himself a scholar?!

“Dorian, what’s wrong?”

“You’re… the heart.”

“What?” He asked, confusion tugging at his smile.

 _Something about three daughters, heart, peace and soul… Called me Hissrad now there are two daughters?_ “What do your sisters names mean?”

“Dorian, what kind of question is that? What is going on?”

“They’re Qunlat, Asala, and Kost, what do they mean?”

“I- Well, Kost means peace, and Asala means soul. Dorian-”

“Heart, peace and soul?! Kaffas, I thought that maybe- but… _You’re_ the third daughter.” The smile disappeared instantly, dropping from his features. He opened his mouth as if to protest but it fell closed, his lips pulled tightly together, the answer in his eyes. He couldn’t protest. “How? How is that possible?! What does that mean exactly?!”

“Dorian, it’s… difficult to explain. How-”

“No, Benadictus Nicanor’s theory on warping the veil is difficult to explain. This is ridiculous. Impossible!”

“It’s not impossible. How do-”

“Then what is it? Blood magic? Just tell me it wasn’t blood magic, tell me you’re not like everyone in the Imperium. Tell me you’re not like my father!”

“If there had been any other way… But there wasn’t, there isn’t.”

“Hissrad.” He whispered but Adaar flinched away from it and he flinched too. “This is why she called you Hissrad, because of the blood magic, the lies.”

“Please, Dorian, I’m not lying I swear I’m not lying! I will tell you any truth you want to hear, I was through with lying when I went through with the ritual.”

“So, so what? You’re a woman?!”

“No! Well-…” He fumbled eyes trying to find anything but Dorian’s.

“You used blood magic to get this body?!”

“I-…”

“So my father got what he wanted, in the end!”

“No, Dorian you’re wrong! You’re wrong; you just need to listen to me!” His hands gripped Dorian’s shoulders, shaking slightly.

“Well I’m all ears!”

“I-…” He trailed off, unable to finish a sentence he’d barely started. “I never wanted you to find out; I never wanted you to know. Whatever happened, it’s all in the past, it means nothing to me. This is who I am now.”

“A maleficar?!”

“Dorian…”

He struggled, and Adaar freed him from his grasp without protest. As he turned, fleeing from the library he called back. “Don’t bother chasing after me.” But he wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like before I begin the next chapter, and especially after what just occurred, I want to state that I identify as trans, so anything stated in these chapters is based largely upon personal experience, and what I understand and have been through, of course experiences vary, and I don’t mean to offend anyone with anything mentioned.
> 
> I debated over Dorian's reaction for a long time, varying from completely accepting to absolutely outraged (basically this...) and in the end I think I'm kind of happy with how it all pans out. I feel like I want to explain everything, but I don't want to ruin anything for the next chapter.


	28. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next few chapters I kind of burn canon and blow it's ashes into the wind (not quite but that's how it feels, there's very little content on the wikis about how some of this stuff works.)  
> Still a warning for transphobia.

The Herald’s Rest was eerily silent and Dorian had to remind himself that the entirety of the Inquisitions forces were still retreating from the Arbor wilds. No Bull and his Chargers chanting in the corner, no Sera overhead making lewd jokes, no Varric taking punters for all they had, so close to stealing it should be criminal. Cassandra had seen him enter and checked on him after a short while, by then he was far too drunk to give a damn, and sent her away with a few choice words, a scowl pulling at her features and the door slamming behind her.

He barely noticed as the day drew to a close, the candles lit to compensate for the severe lack of natural light. The bartender looked at him with pity and he tried to ignore it as he ordered another brandy. He would have chanced the cellars if he didn’t think Josephine, or even worse Adaar, might have found him.

He felt the hairs on his arm stand to attention and he didn’t even turn to look, instead finishing off his drink and ordering the bottle as opposed to asking for several more drinks, he was going to need it, he was sure. “I’m honestly surprised it took you this long.”

“You made it worse!” Cole chastised, and as he turned slowly he thought the spirit looked angry, it made him chuckle, something he would later not be proud of, especially when Cole gripped his robes pulling him from the seat. His drink toppled, and he barely managed to save half of the glass. The boy was at least half a foot shorter than him, and with his hat prodding his face it made for an entirely unthreatening encounter. "You were supposed to fix it!”

“Is this a side effect of your human nature? You’ve developed a temper?” He questioned, rather unconcerned as he took a sip of what remained of his drink, twisting out Cole’s grasping hands.

“You were supposed to fix it, but you made the hurt worse, why?! Why would you do that?!”

“Cole, the world is not as simple as you wish it to be. There is no clear fix. Adaar is, he’s…”

“ _Drip drip drip. It runs thicker than water. Your blood is not ours. You are not ours. But I am more Kadan than they know. It means were the heart **lies**. My heart had lied too long._ ”

“What does that mean?” He demanded. “I wish you’d speak plainly instead of dancing around this all. I’ve no time for riddles!”

“You… Love him.” Cole stated.

“That’s hardly an answer to the question.” Dorian hissed eyes roaming over the empty room to ensure nobody was watching. There was no point in lying to Cole.

“ _Sometimes love isn’t enough…”_

He paused for a moment before replying, his alcohol riddled brain slow in response, “Now it’s hardly fair to quote myself at me, now is it?”

“ _You feel betrayed. You say things you can’t ever take back._ You can take them back. He will let you.”

“Oh, he will now, will he?”

“ _Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. What if he doesn’t want me after? But he did want. He wanted, and I wanted to._ You’re angry, but you don’t know what to be angry at.”

Dorian sunk back onto the barstool, throwing back what remained of the drink after Cole’s surprise attack. “I- I’m angry because… You know, it appears Morrigan knows-”

“The Iron Bull knows.”

“Kaffas, does he now?! And how exactly- you know, don’t bother. Why am I last person in Skyhold to hear of this?!”

“He told no-one, he didn’t want them to know, but they discovered. He tried to tell you though, three times.”

“Did you pluck that from his mind?”

“No. He told me, I just spoke to him.”

“So that’s what took you so long. Was his hurt more substantial than mine?”

“He was closer.” Dorian chuckled at that, for an absurdly long time, for something not half as funny as he seemed to find it. “You should speak to him.”

“Should I?” Dorian asked, but his feet had already propelled him unsteadily from the stool.

“Yes.” Cole said nothing more.

“Perhaps I shall!” He slurred as if it was the triumphant one liner to end an argument, as if he were gaining the upper hand as Cole simply watched Dorian toss some coins onto the bar, before grabbing the remainder of the bottle, and proceeding to stumble from the building. In truth he knew he had been played like a fiddle, even if the night air did nothing to help his drunken mind, but thankfully his alcohol fuelled body took to the cool winds more hardily than it usually would have, an unnatural warmth coursing through his veins.

Most of the nobles had retired for the evening, and he didn’t care much for the few who remained. He could feel their gazes as he stumbled past, wondered how many of them had been at the ball. That had been a fun night, he’d been almost as drunk as now, if not more, but then he’d had a herald to hold him steady, or to at least stumble alongside him.

When he pressed on the door to the inquisitor’s quarters he was surprised to find it locked. He couldn’t recall a time it had ever been locked. Straightening his back to at least suggest an air of sophistication as he took a mouthful from the bottle of brandy, for a shot of confidence, he gave three sharp knocks, loud enough that Adaar could not deny hearing them. He waited a moment. Listening intently for any sound from within, any sign that he may be descending the stairs; when none came, he knocked again, once more, he told himself. He was acutely aware of the nobles’ eyes on his back.

“Dorian?” A quiet voice asked, and he turned, wobbling slightly with the speed of it. Josephine stood before him, short and sweet and kind as always and that look of pity made him so glad he hadn’t raided the cellars, he couldn’t bear to see that amplified.

“Josephine?! I’m glad you’ve started using first names!”

“If you’re looking for the Inquisitor, he’s hiding away in the library, drinking, I believe. You’ve picked up one another’s bad habits.” Dorian ignored that last jab, even if he knew she was trying to be well meaning in a roundabout sort of way.

“I’m not certain he wants to be found…”

“I think there’s only one person he wants to see right now.”

“Let me assume-”

“Dorian Pavus. If you stand here delaying any longer I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

“Of course.” He muttered curtly turning to wander back through the crowd of nobles. No doubt Josephine would have to quell some rumours once he had left the main hall.

It was a strange experience, a surreal one, to ascend the stairs to the second floor of the library and find Adaar sitting alone in the alcove that had been named Dorian’s. How many times had the roles been reversed? It seemed like everyone was still in the wilds, the only candle that illuminated the entire library the one that sat on the table between their chairs. Even Solas had retired for the night.

“I thought I would find you in your rooms at this time at night.” He looked down at the book that Adaar held in his hands.  _The tale of the Champion._ A smile pulled at the Tevinter’s lips as he looked down at the copy, dog-eared, well loved, like many of the other novels the qunari owned.

“They found their happy ending. Now where is he?  _Trapped in the fucking fade.”_ It wasn’t the reply Dorian had been expecting, not in the slightest, this wasn’t going to be the conversation he’d been anticipating.

As he eased his startled features it dawned that of course it was not a commentary on the literary value of the novel he held in his hands. Adaar was a strong believer in happily ever after, Dorian could discern as much from the collection that lined his shelf, unfortunately life couldn’t offer the safety of a final page.

“That wasn’t your fault.” He sighed as he sunk into his seat.

“Do you realise how many times Cole’s told me that? Kind of lost meaning now.” Adaar mumbled, and it became obvious he’d been drinking when he tried to close the book and found his thumb an obstructing obstacle, Josephine’s suspicions had been correct.

“Adaar…”

“Hawke chose to stay, Tama didn’t mean those words, you’re no accident. He’s said them all so many times.” He sighed placing the book aside. “The worst ones are when he talks about it,  _blood, choking, can’t breathe, restraints more than physical._ That one took a while to get over… I didn’t expect you to come back.”

“I was persuaded. Could you… Tell me _why_?”

“You said it yourself once, the last resort of the weak mind.” He answered calmly, unable to meet his eyes. His voice shook, his face twisted. “And I was _weak_.”

Dorian tried not to flinch away, to run when he heard those words, words that were once his fathers. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Nobody who didn’t already deserve it, who wouldn’t have already died.”

“Venhedis. So someone did have to die for it?!” He asked in horror. “I guess I fooled myself into believing it wasn’t truly a blood ritual.”

“You say that like we haven’t been roaming the country killing Templars and Venatori and everything in-between for the last year.” Dorian opened his mouth to protest, but it fell closed when he realised he had no argument. “He was a murderer. Don’t know what made him different from the rest but, he was going to be taken to the gallows, actual gallows, not Varric’s version… Gave him another option, he didn’t realise what he was getting into… Neither did I.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t really keep books on this kind of magic just lying around; it’s all experimental, but that’s nearly always the way with blood magic. We stumbled on a group of apostates, a couple of them blood mages, everyone got as far away as they could, but my magic had been getting stronger, and I was… interested, snuck away and asked them for lessons, nothing more than you’d see in a circle but more than dad could ever teach me. They taught me to control my magic since I couldn’t hide it, but I was… They took one look at me, chest bound, hair cut short with a shitty knife and they _knew._ ” He fell silent reaching behind the chair, pulling out a bottle of some concoction and Dorian had to wonder just how often he dipped into that awful shit.

“Here.” Dorian offered, holding out the brandy. “That can’t be good for your health.”

“And this is?” Adaar asked with a humourless laugh but he took the bottle, taking a long drink from it. “That gets the back of your throat.”

“I’ve been begging Josephine for some Antivan brandy, but still we must endure this nug piss that barely passes. Still, it gets the job done and I don’t have to worry about you dropping dead on us quite as suddenly.” He winced at that. “You still haven’t answered exactly _why._ ”

“Getting there. Shokrakar helped when I start questioning, but there was only so much help she could give. Everyone called her, well, ‘her’, but when they looked at me they could only see little Kadan, Adaar’s-… Adaar’s _girl_ , and Tama didn’t help. She would do everything she could just to fight it, to fight _me_!” The bottle shook in his hand as he took another drink. “If anyone knew what it was like to be forced to be something you’re not it should have been her! She should have known, she should have been on _my side!_ But she wasn’t, she never was! She called me ‘keeper of illusions’, _liar,_ because I was pretending to be something I wasn’t. But I wasn’t, Dorian, I wasn’t lying!”

When the first tear fell from an eyelash several shades lighter than auburn hair, he knew he was in too deep, with the sheer speed his body reacted. No conscious thought went into the step that propelled him from his seat and brought him closer to Adaar, his arms wrapping around the qunari as he pulled him against his chest. Large hands gripped his robes as tears soaked into the front, the body in his arms shaking with the force of the sobs that wracked through it. His hand idly stroked at the long messy hair, whispering soothing noises against his horns.

“I cut my hair short, bound my chest for a while.” His voice was thick with the tears. “But whenever we went into a town it wasn’t enough. They’d look and call us the usual, but then they’d call me a woman and I… I just wanted them all to see, to understand. Tama could never truly leave the Qun, she will always hold that mind-set, and she couldn’t see the use in it. I wasn’t a skilled warrior, I would never have joined the antaam, there was no need. Even then she told me horror stories of her time as aqun-athlok, told me no good could come of it. I just wanted to prove her wrong.  I went to the mages, and they said they could do it… But then I just wanted it to end.”

“Blood rituals are not the most pleasant experience. I know.”

“The pain was unbearable, it felt like they were ripping me apart, and then putting me back together. Right then, I just wanted them to kill me, it would have been easier.”

“What of the Valo-Kas, how did they find out?”

“They found me. A qunari flat out in the middle of the plains only half a mile from camp, the mages had taken everything and run, I think that was the plan all along. The Kith questioned me and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even speak, my body… It didn’t feel like mine, to begin with when I moved it wouldn’t, and they spoke as if they didn’t know me… Then they all left me alone whilst they discussed my fate, except for Asala.” He laughed quietly.

“She grabbed me and shook me so hard I almost threw up on her, she was only 11 at the time, but she took after Tama, grew up big. I can just remember her asking ‘what the fuck have you done with Kadan?!’ Nobody else had figured it out yet, but she got it straight away, strange ginger qunari turns up as soon as her ‘sister’ goes missing. She was a little terror, but damn was she smart. She didn’t tell a soul, asked if she could spend some time with me. As soon as I was up on my feet she put me flat on my ass and asked me again.”

“I feel she would have gotten along swimmingly with some of the inner circle.”

He nodded a smile tugging at his lips. “She wants to join the inquisition, but she’s better off with the Kith for now, they need her. She’ll run away from Tama one day, and when she does I’ll welcome her with open arms… Dorian, I don’t expect you to forgive me, or understand. But… Shit, I don’t know where I’m going with this sentence because that’s exactly what I was hoping for.”

“To be frank, what you did was moronic.”

Glaring down at his drink his voice didn’t hold the same anger as his features, “Yeah. Trust me Morrigan’s told- Fuck!”

“On that subject, why am I the last in Skyhold to know about this?!”

Sighing he took another drink from the bottle, not at all savouring the brandy, then again the cheap shit was not a taste one would want to savour. “That’s an exaggeration. Four people in Skyhold know now. Bull, Morrigan, Cole and now you… And maybe Solas, I never now with that guy.”

“So why am I still only just discovering this rather important piece of information?”

“You just didn’t figure it out as quickly? How _did_ you figure it out?”

“I’ll admit Cole all but told me, and I’m ashamed to admit it took me far longer than it should have to decipher his meaning.”

Adaar ran a hand over his face muttering to himself and Dorian took it as a cue to return to his seat. “Cole promised it was a secret. I thought he was supposed to fix hurt, not fuck everything up.”

“He thought my knowing would make it better. How did the others realise without his assistance?”

“Bull and I were having a bit of a drink one evening and I asked Krem some, thinking back, rather invasive questions. Because he passed and everyone accepted him and he’s happy as he is. And Bull wanted to know if I had a problem… It stemmed from there. He didn’t want to let it lie, started analysing me in that way he does with people. I could never have had his job, sure I could keep up the lying for a little while, but the constant illusions and calculating and figuring people out. Couldn’t do with that shit.

“He figured it out eventually, took him a while. It was just before the dreadnought run. Told me he didn’t want to know about any of that blood magic stuff but he’d heard of it. He’d think of me no differently but he thought I should know he’d figured it out.”

“ _Bull_ was happy to work alongside a blood mage?!”

“I’m not truly a blood mage, I just… I didn’t perform the ritual.”

“So that makes it all so much better I’m sure.” Dorian argued, but it ended with a sigh, the malice dropped almost immediately. “What about Morrigan, how did she discover this?”

“She recognised the blood magic after we’d spent a little bit of time together, years of training, in casting and recognising even harmless spells. She continued pestering until I was forced to open up to her about what had happened during the ritual, she guessed it from there, and she’d seen the method before… This is the bit you’re probably not going to like…”

“You say that as if I’ve been brimming with positivity for everything thus far.”

“You made that sound as if you haven’t been drinking all afternoon.” He sighed quietly, leaning forward in the chair, taking a swig from the bottle before offering it Dorian, who took it thankfully. “I know you said you were going to leave, and with all of this, I wouldn’t blame you, but you deserve to know, and I was going to tell you, soon. There may be nothing to return to.”

“What in the Maker’s name do you mean?” Dorian was quickly realising that in his intoxicated state it was far easier to be angry than it was to accept what was happening. If he accepted it, it would have been too much.

“There’s a reason many don’t undergo the transition like myself. Shape shifting spells require some sort of sustained energy. Usually they constantly drain mana. This is blood magic; it still requires the constant energy, but not mana. Had I been a blood mage this would all be a lot simpler apparently, but since I’m not cutting up bodies and using their blood to fuel my spells, it’s my own-“

“Stop!” He could feel his hand shaking around the neck of the bottle, his lips trembling as he tried to construct words, Adaar’s startled features looking at him intently. “Tell me-… Tell me this is some sadistic trick to make me pity you, to forgive you. Tell me you’re not telling the truth.”

“Dorian… I’m sorry.”

“No. No! When I overheard Morrigan you said everything was fine! This is not _fine!_ ”

“I didn’t know then. She told me the night before we left for the Arbor wilds, whilst you were sneaking a look at the Eluvian apparently. Then she went to stop you before you did something stupid.” He added with a slight smile. Dorian opted to completely ignore the latter part seeing as Adaar had evidently taken his break-in in good humour.

“What does it mean?!” He demanded, still letting the anger flow, allowing it to overtake any of the other emotions that were threatening to break through, the ones that would have him crumple, that would have crawl into Adaar’s lap as if nothing had changed and cling onto him as if it would make it stop.

“It’s knocking years off my life, can’t be sure how many yet.”

“How can you say that so calmly?!”

“You’ve said it yourself; the odds of me getting out of this alive aren’t exactly in my favour. I guess it’s just another way to die.”

“That doesn’t mean I want-… Amatus, I…” He felt the anger seep from him, the crumpling inevitable. With a sigh he met Adaar’s gaze voice slipping into an accent he rarely used, usually favouring something wholly more neutral. “Ei vento nai deid discedo. Deid lare anima eil, deid lare totalis.”

“Care to tell me what that means?” He asked, but Dorian shook his head as he climbed slowly to his feet. Adaar watched him for a moment, before his hands went to the arms of his chair, like he was making a move to follow, but Dorian stopped him with a single hand on his chest, as he lowered himself into the qunari’s lap.

“Hoping it’s some sort of confession?” He questioned as Adaar’s arms tightened around him.

“Hoping you’re not telling me to go fuck myself, more than anything. Why, is it a confession?”

“Perhaps, just know I’m not fond of the idea of you leaving, but don’t go reading into it too much. You know I’m not one for confessions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can see I've butchered Qunlat, and now it was Tevene's turn. It's based party on Latin, partially on the Tevene supplied that was never used in canon, but is available on the wiki.  
> Ei vento nai deid discedo - I don't want you to go.  
> The rest of the Tevene will be revealed by Dorian a little later, but I'm sure you can get the general idea of it all.
> 
> Of all of the chapters I've been unsure of this is top of the list, I've rewritten it several times over, and sat here with the edit chapter page open for almost two hours.


	29. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> _"I'll tell you about my demons, while you tell me about yours. Maybe they'll get along well enough to fall in love and leave us alone."_  
>  -Unknown  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters where I feel like I need to say, stick with it, it makes more sense at the end? (at least I hope it does)

Dorian stirred for a moment as his body shifted, he wasn’t quite sure when he’d fallen asleep, his memory stretching as far as the moment Adaar had kissed his forehead. They’d been silent a long while before then, nothing much left to say in the late hours of night.

When his eyes fluttered open, his face was pressed against Adaar’s chest, drooling against it rather unattractively, though Adaar didn’t seem to notice, either that or he ignored it for Dorian’s sake, his body held rather unsteadily in large arms. Looking up at the qunari he mumbled, “Where’re we going?”

“I’m taking you to bed.”

Looking around Dorian shivered, the chill night air prickling against his exposed shoulder. “Then why are we outside?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to spend the night with me.” Adaar stated, stopping outside what Dorian now recognised as his own quarters, it had been so long since he’d spent the night there, and he came to the realisation that he’d never brought Adaar there.

“How do you know where my quarters are?”

“I’m the inquisitor. I run this place; you think I don’t know where the Inner Circle sleeps. Never know when I might have to wake you up and ask for your help in stopping an imminent demon invasion.”

Dorian chuckled quietly as he rooted on his belt for his coin pouch, hoping that it still held his key. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that it did. Shifting in Adaar’s arms he succeeding in pushing the door open, allowing the qunari to carry him inside, though he was sure he must have been becoming a burden by that point.

The room was near empty, a few books piled in a corner, some trinkets still on shelves, things that had net yet found their way to migrate to Adaar’s room, or that seemed entirely too personal to bring on a whim.

There was something comforting about it all, the way Adaar lay him down carefully on the bed made it feel as if the afternoon had not occurred, and frankly Dorian thought he would have preferred that, to carry on with ignorant bliss. But that wasn’t a possibility, and some small part of him was almost glad it had occurred, glad that he knew that truth, even if it stung.

As he rolled onto his back a sharp object dug into his spine, making him wince. Rolling away from it he pulled out the offending object, staring at it in confusion, brows knitting together as he sat up on the edge of the bed. When the realisation finally dawned the wooden toy slipped from his fingers, but Adaar caught it before it could clatter against the ground. Tentatively he returned it to Dorian’s hands.

He looked over the little duck again. Varnished wood painted simply. It was made for child sized hands and felt far too small in his own. It was not the same, but its likeness was astonishing, the only missing features its little wheels and the rope around its neck.

“Dorian, are you alright?”

Instinctively he wiped away tears pre-emptively, before they even had a chance to form. “I had one just like this when I was young. Pulled it everywhere, drove mother mad. The paint had chipped away by the time I was done with it. It sat on my shelf for years, long after it had stopped trailing around after me.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But I feel a certain spirit might be involved, I bet he’s been keeping this locked away for a particularly rainy day… I came home one night and father saw me sneaking in, we argued, he expressed how much he disproved of my lifestyle choices, told me once again what a disappointment I was to the family. I was angry, and- well, the duck went up in flames.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

He shook his head slightly. “No, I want you to stay here.”

Adaar looked down, rather uncertainly at Dorian’s bed, barely larger than a single, pressed against the wall, “If that’s what you want.”

Knuckles white with the grip he still held on the wooden duck Adaar’s gentle hands positioned him against the wall, before lying on the bed, barely fitting as he lay on his side, his arms wrapped around Dorian’s frame. The Tevinter breathed quietly, head pressed against the qunari’s chest.

“Deid lare totalis… I- I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Nor I you, kadan. I’m sorry.”

“For which part precisely…”

“For-…” Adaar began but Dorian cut him short

“No, stop. You’ve said your part, I was- I was attempting to change the subject but not like that.  _Bull_ has forgiven what you did, Cole thinks nothing of it, and he’s a spirit, surely he could have been bound by a blood mage.”

“Dorian, I’m not-“

“Please, I understand. Let me finish, otherwise I may never get out the things I wish to, then you may say whatever you like... I’m sorry too, I said things I regret, that were unworthy. Cole said something, in the Tavern, and I realise that I too should have been asking for  _your_  forgiveness. You have put up with a great deal from me, I realise that, and I should have returned some of that leniency, some of that understanding in your time of need.” He clutched the duck in his hands. “Had I been a slightly different man on some varying timeline, perhaps I may have welcomed my father’s ritual, may have joined the Venatori alongside Alexius, I suppose I cannot begrudge you for seizing an opportunity that presented itself to make you feel more…  _Yourself._ I apologise.”

“I think we both fucked up a little, or a lot, but I’ll make it right I promise.”

“You believe there’s a way?”

“There must be, there have been so many others to go through the ritual, surely they can’t all be blood mages or-… The alternative.” He said shifting slightly, and the Dorian could tell his avoidance of outright stating the truth was for Dorian’s sake and not his own. With a sigh he leaned in to the Altus, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Don’t let go of me.” Dorian muttered with a smile, the unspilled tears threatening as they pooled on his lashes.

“Didn't I say that to you after Adamant?”

“Yes, I thought you were too drunk to remember that.”

“ _Don’t worry, I won’t let go until you tell me to._ ” He recalled, proving Dorian wrong entirely.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

-

_“Where are we?” Adaar asked as he spun slowly, stepping deeper into the grove, closer to the bench, placed strategically out of view. Moonlight pushed through the branches, casting silver patterns against the navy grass. “Is this the fade?”_

_“I can remember falling asleep.” Dorian recalled, steadily following after the qunari._

_“I think we’re dreaming together!” He announced with a grin. “But surely one of us must have conjured this place, and I’ve never been here.”_

_“I believe this is on the Pelidanus estate, just south of Carastes. We stayed here when I was young, they offered my family their home whilst I ensured my place at the circle in time for Satinalia. It was all a political manoeuvre of course, there’s very little that isn’t in Tevinter…” He turned to Adaar, his voice trailing away as he noticed the qunari inspecting some of the dark ugly fruit that hung from the circle of thorn filled trees. “I apologise I’m waffling.”_

_“Please continue. I always enjoy your ‘waffling’.”_

_“Well, the Pelidanus’ have a lineage almost as long as the Pavus line, almost, their line and standing has decreased over the ages, quite like our own if I’m honest. They were rather hoping I didn’t have a betrothed yet as Lady Pelidanus was with child, a girl was predicted. Unfortunately my lovely planned bride-to-be had been born mere months before. They were rather upset to hear that but of course they couldn’t throw us out. I bet they’re rather glad they didn’t make an arrangement with my parents now, they’d be looking at the arse end of a nasty deal, an unmarried daughter and a proposed son-in-law who ran away to be with a qunari.”_

_“Is that what this is? You’re running away to be with me?”_

_“That was not my intentions when I initially ran, I’ll admit, but it appears that’s what has become of me… I’m not sure why this is the place my mind would conjure.”_

_“Might it have anything to do with that duck you’re still holding onto?”_

_Looking down to his hands he expected it to be there, and was surprised when it wasn’t. Of course with some hard concentration he could conjure it, but there was little point. “Perhaps. Memories of my younger years. I spent quite a lot of time out here in our short stay.”_

_Hands rested on his hips, and he realised that he hadn’t heard Adaar approaching. He’d let his guard down of course, this was the fade, laws of the real world did not apply here, just as with any dream a demon could slip through, but this felt even more vulnerable. Because it felt more real. It told himself, shaking away the serenity that had fallen over him._

_“We have to be on guard.” He stated, as much to himself as Adaar, but the inquisitor simply smiled, one of his hands rubbing soothing circles into Dorian’s hip, lips pressing against his neck._

_“I know, Solas informed me. He gave me some tips on noticing the signs a demons trying to break through before it’s too late, we should be safe.”_

_“So what are we supposed to do here, in our own little fade haven?”_

_“I can think of a few things.” He answered with a waggle of his brows, hands sliding lower to cup Dorian’s ass, giving it a gentle squeeze._

_“Oh, even when you’re asleep you can’t stop yourself… Could we do that?!”_

_“I can’t imagine why not? I mean you can dream about it- I mean I’ve dreamt about it, so why should this be any different?” He questioned with pink surfacing on his grey skin._

_“I thought qunari’s didn’t dream, and now you tell me you’ve been dreaming about me?” Dorian asked as he slowly wound his arms around Adaar’s neck, the tress shifting. “In rather compromising positions I imagine.”_

_“I- Well…” He was fumbling like a teenager, cheeks flushed and his pointed ears steadily gaining colour._

_“I imagine you must have woken, hard or already covered in your own seed, just from thinking of me.”_

_“You want to make it one of those dreams?” Adaar asked, a growl in his throat bit his crimson cheeks betraying him._

_“Where’s the harm in trying?”_

_The movement shocked the breath from him more than the moment they hit the ground. Adaar’s arms around his waist, he pulled them backwards, tumbling to the ground in a peel of laughter that rang throughout the clearing. The impact was soft, softer than the grass and sun-baked dirt had any right to be, almost like falling backwards onto their mattress. The logic of dreams._

_“Kadan… this, all of this, it’s just a dream right? Just lucid dreaming?” Adaar asked, brushing their lips together in what could barely be considered a kiss._

_“Yes, I suppose.”_

_“So there’s a possibility we may not even remember this in the morning. Whatever we say or do here, it has no bearing on reality, okay? Not unless you want it to.”_

_“Amatus, I-…” Although reluctant he sighed, looking into Adaar’s wide eyes, looking up at him with tender admiration. “Alright.”_

_With a touch so gentle it barely registered against his skin, Adaar took Dorian’s chin between his fingers, smiling up at him. The smile managed to spread, infecting Dorian’s own lips, turning up in a smile that made him try to turn away for fear of blushing, but Adaar’s fingers held him straight without ever tightening their grip. The leaves above them moved with no breeze, no sound. All reservations were forgotten._

_“Good. Because there’s something I wanted to tell you…” Adaar took a deep breath, rolling with a breathy laugh that seeped into Dorian’s bones, making him grin, so that he lay over Dorian. A hand cupping his cheek, fingers wrapped around his thighs, noses so close they almost brushed, and neither could hold back their chuckles as Adaar went slightly cross eyed, trying to find the end of his nose before rubbing it ever so softly against Dorian’s._

_The Vashoth’s eye lashes fluttered, long and several shades lighter than his near orange hair, framing blue eyes that were far, far too pretty. Once he may have said for a qunari, but no, they were just far too devastatingly blue, far too close. A thumb ran idly over his cheek bone as a hand caressed his hip, and Dorian would be lying if he said he didn’t find the way Adaar pulled back ever so slightly to reveal the way his teeth tugged at his lower lip, oh so enticing._

_The lines worry on his face smoothed out as he looked over Dorian, lips easing into a smile instead. “Dorian. I love you.”_

_“Amatus.” He sighed, pulling their lips together, finding that no words could speak like the need behind his tongue or the way his arm tightened around Adaar, the inquisitor’s fingers gripping his thighs more thoroughly, pinning him against the ground, a hand resting on his hip, the other caressing his cheek, tangling them together in a mess of limbs. He sighed again, against the lips, “Amatus.”_

_“Dorian, you don’t have to say anything in return, I don’t expect-“_

_“I love you.”_

_“You do?!” He asked, eyes wide in surprise, and Dorian was sure that the surprise was as obvious in his own features. He’d said it aloud._

_“Yes! Yes of course I do. I love you!” He laughed, which seemed completely uncalled for in the circumstances but Adaar was laughing too then. “It’s so easy! Why didn’t I say it sooner?!”_

_“I love you Dorian Pavus.” He sighed, hand brushing away loose strands of hair, the other still tight on his thigh and hip and calf._

_“I love you Kadan Adaar.”_

_“I thought this would be ‘far too syrupy’ for your liking, or something along those lines.”_

_“First of all, I do not sound like that.” He argued. “And second of all, just kiss me.”_

_On the bed of grass and leaves they wrapped themselves together in one another’s arms and Adaar obliged, leaning forward to press their lips together. It was everything he had been too afraid to dream of._

_“You should try the fruit.” Adaar muttered, pulling away slightly._

_“I’ll taste it in a moment. For now all I want to taste is your lips… Ugh, I’ve been spending far too much time amongst you all; your ridiculous jokes are wearing off on me.”_

_The hands on his hips tightened, gripping his chest too, so tight breathing was almost difficult._

_“Amatus, that hurts.” He gasped out between laboured breaths._

_“Hush Dorian, it’s alright.”_

_Adaar leaned forward pinning his arms to the ground and Dorian felt vines wrapping over his forearms. It was too late when Dorian realised the fingers pressing on his hips, gripping his thighs, hadn’t been his lovers hands at all, but the thick fleshy roots that now ensnared him._

_“Let me go!” He demanded, straining against the vines, but with little give._

_“Why would I do that? I have you precisely where I want you.” He cooed, a grin spreading his lips, not his usual lopsided smile full of mischief. There was malice that Dorian had never seen in his eyes. He produced a blade from his belt. Running the blunt edge of the knife along Dorian’s jaw he couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine._

_“You’re not Adaar, what are you?! What do you want?!”_

_“Dorian, kadan, who else would it be?”_

_“Don’t play the fool with me. Who are you?!” All pretences were dropped suddenly as Adaar- as whatever was wearing his face straddled his hips, pressing him further into the ground, allowing the vines to wrap tighter around him, a yelp escaping him as they constricted over his ribs._

_“Surely you should know by now Dorian, I’ve been following you for some time. A shame you realised, your fear really is delicious. No need to possess.”_

_“What do you mean?” His voice shook as Adaar’s lips ran over his neck, the voice that spoke to him no longer resembling his lovers, cracking at the edges, deep and resonating in his bones._

_“You’re not as smart as you think Dorian, and so many fears. What if he leaves? What if he doesn’t love me? Has he ever said those words..? Dorian.” It hissed his name as if it was acid on tongue._

_“He doesn’t have to!” He countered._

_“You can’t lie to me. I know your fears Dorian, I know. What if he does not love back? But father’s light is on, what if he hears me arrive?”_

_“Stop.”_

_“What if he knew about your trysts? What about Rilienus?”_

_“They don’t matter anymore!” He cried. “They- They’re nothing.”_

_“But what would father do if he truly knew of Adaar? Would it be like Rilienus? You wouldn’t have the guts to stand up for him either! Oh if I had known I should have shown you that. Instead, the ritual, the night you were too afraid to end it, the qunari dead.”_

_“No.” He whispered, under the laughter of the thing that had Adaar’s face._

_“I should have done this long ago. But of course, how could I forget?” It asked, casually twirling the knife in his hand. Its eyes softened, returning to something that resembled Adaar. Big and scared, lip quivering, chest jumping with quick breaths. “I’m dying Dorian, I need blood. Please Dorian, please.”_

_“No.” He begged, shaking his head._

_“Please?!” It continued to beg, tears streaming down Adaar’s cheeks, as the knife drew ever closer to Dorian’s skin, wrist pinned near his face so he could see._

_“Please, kadan, I love you.” It whispered as it dug in the blade, one hand covering Dorian’s mouth to muffle the scream as the thick red trickled from the new incision._

_Dorian felt it before he could put his finger on it. The smothering that felt like magebane in his system, the explosive power that felt like his body was either going to implode, or self-destruct in such a force of energy that there would be nothing left of him, or anything else. He had felt it once before. The blood ritual._

_He could not ponder the significance of it, whether it was his doing, or the demons, before the fire forced its way out of him_ and he was fighting against the thing that held him down, cold sweat running down the back of his neck, body pressed tightly between two seemingly immovable objects. But as his breathing hitched, one of them rolled away allowing him space, and he could only assume that he had won over the demon. Until he heard Adaar’s soothing voice, humming against his forehead.

“It’s okay, it was just a dream.”

As his breathing returned to a regular rate he opened his eyes Adaar standing beside his bed, palms open to show his lack of weapon, but Dorian knew for a mage that meant little. “It was a dream.”

“Demon.” He muttered, rubbing at his sore eyes.

“Demon? Dorian, did one try to get to you?” He nodded his head shakily, arms wrapping around his legs.

Adaar’s arms tentatively returned around him, wrapping loosely over his side and holding him close, but giving him more than enough space to flee. Even though, he realised, after everything that had occurred he had absolutely no intention to.

“H-How do I know this is real?” He asked.

“Focus, focus on something, the fade is distorted it has elements out of your control. If this is real you can focus.” Adaar suggested as Dorian glared down at the duck in his hands willing it to pop out of existence. When it remained in the palm of his hands, staring up at him he sighed in relief, melting into the embrace.

“You think it was a real demon, or just a nightmare?”

“I don’t know. It- It used your face.” He admitted shakily. “I thought it  _was_  you.”

“Shit. Perhaps I need to ask Solas to hurry up with that surprise. What kind of demon was it?”

“I’m not sure, it didn’t want to possess me, and it said it’s been following me. Fear, I’d assume. I can’t be sure how intelligent it is, I haven’t been able to detect it thus far, but the dream was incredibly pleasant until it turned against me. You- You don’t know anything about it do you?”

“No. Should I?”

“It was… Strange, to say the least. You, the dream you, attempted to convince me we were in the fade together, it was quite like you in manner and all, and it said some things…”

“Perhaps we should go for a walk, so you can clear your head.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Could we perhaps accidently fall into your bed at the end?” He asked looking down at the single that they’d both been crammed into, feeling the twinge in his back. “Only I know it to be  _far_ more comfortable.”

With a slight smile he answered, “I’m sure that accident could be arranged…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so when I mentioned the chapters where I basically look at canon and go 'eh, maybe?' I was searching for a very long time for some clear details on how dreams work in canon, and since nothing presented itself to suggest this isn't possible...
> 
> Also I have finals over the next month, so the Tuesday updates may be a bit hit and miss, since I'm really not prepared for anything.


	30. Night Time Confessionals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of an update on Tuesday, exams are currently taking priority, as well as some more personal issues, as writing this and then checking over it all myself without a beta and then when I rewrite it because I think it's horrible... Yeah, it ends up taking a lot of time. Plus we then had a ridiculous power cut Tuesday night, when I finally considered posting, turns out our cooker decided to die on us and blow a fuse, plunging the whole house into darkness for a few hours...

It was still the early hours of the morning, and not a soul roamed Skyhold but the night watch as they wandered across the lower courtyard. Adaar took Dorian’s hand in his own with some hesitation, fingers loose around his own so that he could pull away at any moment, and it pulled at Dorian’s chest, made a drop in the pit of his stomach as he realised how cautious Adaar was being.

Of course, there was something close to anger still bubbling in the pit of his butterfly filled stomach, mixed with the fear of whatever it was that had decided to take residence in his mind. But it was not the burning rage he had expected, something akin to his father’s betrayal. It was a quiet boiling, that turned to less than a mere simmer when he tightened his grip on Adaar’s hand and received a squeeze in return.

“Tell me a secret.” Dorian prompted out of the blue.

“A secret?”

“I suddenly feel as if I don’t know you as well as I thought…”

“Only if you’ll give me one in return.” Adaar offered. Though Dorian chuckled uncertainly he nodded. “Are you going to give me a prompt, or do I have to pluck one out of my-”

“Ah, I’d prefer one that wasn’t ripe from your cheeks, but you can choose, and I’ll return the favour.”

“Alright… When I was eleven I stole a mabari from a travelling salesman. He had it caged up in the back of his wagon. You could hear it wining, poor thing. So whilst he was sleeping I put it on a leash and ran away. After I had the Kith’s healer at the time look it over, once it was given the all clear, I let it go. Salesman was fuming, lost his prize bitch, but he never figured out it was me.”

“You _are_ ridiculous, aren’t you? Even before you gained the mark you had to run in saving the day didn’t you?” Adaar chuckled quietly. “I’m right aren’t I?! I imagine you were a handful for poor Shokrakar, running into danger to help the innocent and the helpless.”

“Yeah, I was a bit of a pain in the ass.”

“It’s not that much of a stretch to imagine.” Adaar reeled back, free hand on heart in mock offense. “Oh please, you are such a vigilante hero now. Only you’ve gained a mass organisation fuelling your deeds, making them almost lawful.”

“I suppose… Anyway, I believe it’s your turn.”

“Very well, whilst I was at the circle in Minrathous-”

“I thought you studied at the circle of Vyrantium?” He asked in confusion.

“I did for a short time… And the circle in Qarinus, and I started out in Carastes. I… I had trouble settling. I didn’t particularly get along with the other students.”

“Just a difference of opinion, or..? You were bullied?”

“No, I believe the enchanters would tell you quite the opposite. I was a terror to the other students, constantly getting into scraps with boys five years my senior, and coming out on top, might I add. I ended up spending a lot of time at home with my parents, at the family estate in Qarinus. It was easier that way, as they attempted to secure my place at a circle that would have me, it wasn’t that I lacked ability, quite the contrary, I just… But as I was saying, at the circle in Minrathous-”

“You can save that for your next secret if you like. I think that counted.”

“That was hardly a secret, half of Tevinter is aware of my dipping in and out of circles.”

“And the whole of the Valo-Kas is aware that I stole a dog. We’re not very good with secrets.”

“Ah, but my next is a secret, something I’ve never told a soul. I’ll go, and to give you time to think of a _real_ secret. So, whilst I was in Minrathous I was working alongside Alexius, theorising the time magic he used to try and kill you.”

“I never did thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome, for the near death experience and the subsequent saving.”

“I think you’ll find I managed to hold my own!” He argued.

“All is well, I won’t tell anyone the Herald of Andraste, the Qunari Inquisitor was a blushing damsel in distress.”

“I was not blushing!”

“However, you admit to being a distressed damsel.” Dorian chuckled.

“Hey, back in the day I was a very eligible bachelorette if you don’t mind. I bet princes would have fawn over me…. Except for the whole Qunari thing.”

“You see that’s almost a secret! Something I didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t… Make you uncomfortable?”

“I’ll admit it may take a little getting used to. However, I think I’m looking forward to getting to know the rest of you… But, on with my secret so you can get on with yours. Before I worked with Alexius,” He began, spying the smile that spread across Adaar’s lips at the edge of his vision. “My father sent me to this pompous Andrastian college, essentially for the rich and desperate. Now, in Minrathous there are several distinct districts, separating the Altus from the lower classes, the closer to the city borders you wander the seedier it becomes. Well, I escaped the college, and my father had stopped funding me beyond my studies quite some time before then, worried about what I might spend it on and how much further I could destroy the Pavus legacy and all that. So to gain a bit of extra money I, well, I’d scour the seedier districts, offering favours. Trying to drag the name further as I gained a bit of coin.”

“I didn’t realise you fought against your father so openly.”

“Towards the end, yes. I settled down when I gained Alexius as my mentor, but then of course there was Felix’s blight sickness, and everything went to shit faster than you could say… well, _kaffas._ ”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, it was out of everyone’s control. Unless you’re apologising for my sordid affairs in which case _really_ don’t bother, I never did.”

“Okay, I’m going to have to make this one good then aren’t I? I have a couple… But this one, one other person knows. But I promise you, it’s… It’s something I’m sure you’d be surprised and intrigued to hear.”

“Fine, but it had better be good since it’s not a complete secret.” Dorian insisted with a smirk.

“Me and Bull... We've fucked.” Adaar stated bluntly, causing Dorian to halt to ensure he had heard him correctly.

The Altus spluttered for a moment before composing himself slightly. “ _What?_!”

“Not whilst we’ve been together, it was before Haven, but… Yeah.”

“I- I certainly wasn’t expecting it, so yes, good secret. I know you’re good friends but… _You and Bull?!_ How- did that even occur?”

“It was simple, just a one off thing, we both knew that, just loosening a bit of the tension. He’d never been with a mage, and I’d never been with a qunari.”

“You’d never been with a qunari?! But… You mean you’ve been with Vashoth, right?”

“Nope, most of the qunari I know are Kith, and honestly that would be like banging your cousin. The Bull though, that guy really knows his way around a body, he can… He can do _things._ I went back, for a second round a couple of weeks after Haven but he said he wouldn’t do it.”

“And why ever not? I thought he had a thing for redheads, surely-” Dorian began, before stopping himself short, feeling the agitation seeping into his voice.

“Are you jealous?” He asked with a tinge of humour in his voice. “You needn’t be. He said no because he could tell I was crushing on you pretty desperately, and it wouldn’t be right.”

“Really, you were infatuated with me so soon?” The humour had leaked back into his voice.

Humming in agreement Adaar chuckled quietly as he steered them through the lower floor of the fortress. Dorian would have been tempted to call it a basement if it wasn’t kept in such as impeccable condition. By his knowledge basements tended to be dingy and filled with cobwebs and only good for hiding intrigue and old wine. He could almost guess the path they were taking, towards the Inquisitors quarters, he’d been down here often enough to take stock of the hidden library and the wine they had (and nothing more, _of course I’m not stealing Josephine, what do you take me for?_ )

“I guess this is a secret in the sense that you’ll be the only one in Skyhold to know, you’ll be the only one I’ve outright explained it to.” Adaar began. “But back before… Before the ritual, I used to wear vitaar a lot; I had my own design though. I mimicked the masks and chains they’d place on saarebas, I’d paint the stitches across my lips. The first time I did it I thought Tama was going to test its capabilities there and then.”

“I recall you saying she was one of the keepers, an Arvaarad, your Tama?”

“Yes, that was the worst way I could think of rebelling, other than actually returning to the Qun but I’d sooner walk naked into the chantry and praise the Old Gods. They’d certainly be kinder to me. A few weeks after that I went ‘missing’. I spoke to Tama in private after the ritual, when I confronted her about my real identity. That- That’s the only time she actually tried to kill me. When she realised I’d used blood magic to go against her. Under the Qun they’d have cut out my tongue or killed me, dependant on whether I was still useful.”

“I’m sorry. I think I still hold the ability to say my father never tried to outright kill me.”

“She didn’t though, changed her mind. So I suppose there is that, but she never-”

“Inquisitor!” Leliana’s voice, bordering on frantic, interrupted as they climbed the final stair into the great hall. “Thank the Maker I have found you.”

“What’s the matter?” Adaar questioned, already following after Leliana as she proceeded towards the gardens.

“Morrigan chased her son into the Eluvian, she was terrified. They have not yet returned.”

“Morrigan has a son?” Dorian mused quietly. Honestly that was the detail he found shocking about the whole affair thus far. She didn’t seem the type.

“Chasing Kieran?”

“She said he activated the mirror somehow, and then she ran into it. I’ve never seen Morrigan like that. Please, you must go after her.”

“I will.” The inquisitor stated throwing open the door that wasn’t concealed in the slightest, the ward evidently deactivated by either the child or his mother.

“I’ll find help.” Leliana stated as she was already turning to leave.

“You’re just going to run in there?” Dorian asked as he watched Adaar stride towards the Eluvian.

“Yes.” He replied simply, a smile spreading over his lips. “Don’t worry I’ll be back before you know it. Nehraa her-issala panahedan.”


	31. Final Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stange chapter is... strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more exam to go, but many many more personal issues, so Tuesday updates still aren't guaranteed.

Patience was a virtue. It was a shame that Dorian had been handed almost every possession he desired at a young age with little question, and knew very well that had every potential to easily become a very bad person. Patience wasn’t a thing he couldn’t stand, and virtue was lost on him.

“He’s been in there far too long!” He complained again. Soon enough his pacing would be wearing away the wooden flooring.

The difference was, that time Leliana replied with, “It has been a considerable amount of time.”

That was the most worrying point, the fact that the spymaster was evidently becoming uneasy with the length of time that Adaar too had now been missing. When Leliana had returned she explained that she had informed Josephine who had been awoken by the commotion. The ambassador was then on her way to inform Solas, the next best hope on knowledge of the Eluvian, and any other forces she could find.

Dorian was glad that Leliana had returned, he was unsure why it should be taking so much time, from what he could remember there was little else but mirrors on the other side of the Eluvian, and he would rather not fair it alone.

“Shall we enter?” He asked. It was only then that he noticed the bow strapped to Leliana’s back. Evidently she was prepared for any outcome.

“Yes. We should not waste time. The inner circle will be able to discern what has happened to us.” He tried not to show how much that sentence worried him.

He stepped in first, to be followed by the right hand of the Divine, and he had to wonder for a moment just how his life had come to this. The Orlesian chantry as well. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, even in the confusing circumstances.

Unfortunately his humour was stopped abruptly. As his step came to rest on the other side of the mirror, he was not in the strange land of mirrors they had navigated through after their escape from the Temple of Mythal. Instead his foot found purchase on black rock, the landscape an eerie green, and it was hardly a place he would forget in a hurry. Hardly a place he had ever planned on returning to in any capacity.

“Dorian?” Adaar’s voice asked quietly.

Turning quickly, his eyes fell on the qunari, his startled features calming. “You scared me half to death amatus.”

“Sorry. What are you doing in here?”

“Searching for you.” He answered simply as Adaar stepped closer to him, hand held out for him to take.

“You didn’t need to come, I was just leaving.” Dorian reached out to take Adaar’s hand, before pausing momentarily.

“Then where’s Morrigan?”

“She’s coming, she just-”

The scream that ripped through the air, he realised, was his own, as the arrow lodged itself in Adaar’s skull. He was frozen for a moment, body stiffening as Adaar’s limp body fell to the ground. When finally his motor skills were restored, he fell to his knees as he looked up at their attacker.

Leliana looked down at him with concern and confusion, another arrow already knocked in her bow and ready to be loosed.

“Why?!” He cried as he scooped Adaar into his arms, he cradled the body against his chest.

“You should step away from that.” She suggested cautiously, lowering her bow slightly, but not removing the arrow.

“ _That,”_ He spat, already feeling the flame come to life in his hand before he had even made the conscious decision to fight. “That was the most important person in the world, and you just- you-…”

“Dorian, I don’t know what you are seeing, but that is a demon.” She stated calmly, arrow still held.

“I- How do I know I can believe you?! How do I know  _you’re_  not the demon?”

“You will simply have to trust me…” He sighed deeply. “Explain to me what this place is, it does not sound similar to the crossroads Solas described.”

“It is not.” Dorian answered, reluctantly lowering the body to the ground, his arms, wrapping around his own chest to make up for the lack of contact. “This is the fade.”

“The fade? This is not at all how I remember it.”

“Remember it?”

“In my time with the warden we were sent into the fade. It was not like this. I suppose it is because we are here physically.”

“Perhaps Adaar had the right of it with the loyalty scheme.” Dorian mused, trying his hardest not to look down to the body as he muttered. “We should find them.”

Leliana nodded in agreement but did not remove the arrow from her bow, still ready for an attack. Dorian wished he had his staff, for all the weapons training he’d received it was no use with his bare hands. The fade had a tendency to alter magic, throw it off course, to a point where it was almost beyond usefulness. At least with his staff he could have bashed some demon skulls together.

The path forward was evident. The rocky croppings that surrounded them keeping them on the straight and narrow, marking out the directions to take.

He heard Leliana loose an arrow and turned sharply to find their attacker, electricity crackling at his fingertips. Instead he found Adaar, another arrow, this time protruding from his neck as the body slumped to the ground. Breath catching, Dorian had to hold back the cry that threatened to rip from his throat.

“H- How do you know it’s not him?!” He demanded in an attempt to steady his breathing and his pounding heart.

“I do not see him. I see other things that could not possibly be here, they have no reason.” He couldn’t draw his eyes away and this time he saw it, the green dissipation as the body crackled out of existence.

“Fear demons. We encountered similar last time, but that was due to the nightmare. Surely we shouldn’t be bothered by them here. Unless-…”

“Unless?” Leliana questioned.

Dorian paused for a moment recalling the dream he had experienced less than twenty minutes ago. Surely it couldn’t be coincidence that the dreams arrived after his first physical visit to the fade, and worsened only moments before his second. “Don’t kill the next, I want to see what it has to say for itself.”

“It is a demon; I doubt anything it has to say that will be to your liking.”

“I doubt that too. But at least if I receive answers I may be able to put an end to it.”

It did not take long before the next demon materialised, and Dorian could discern from the simple way Leliana raised her bow, ensuring a clear shot should anything go wrong, that it was in fact a demon. He feared that he would send a fireball into a qunari, only for Leliana to shout that he’d killed the inquisitor. He assumed that was one of the things fuelling the creature before him.

“Dorian?”

“Adaar? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you of course. Quickly, we have to leave, it’s not safe.” Evidently that was their goal, to get him out.

“So, it’s me you’re after, you want me out of here?”

“Dorian?” He asked, but the features couldn’t mirror the confused concern that would typically pull at Adaar’s features, instead they twisted into something short of anger.

“I can think more clearly now, without you there. You’ve been riding in the back of my mind, haven’t you? Feeding on my fear. What was it that gave you the push to show yourself? Adaar’s secret, the Fade opening so nearby, both?”

“I-I don’t-” Dorian jumped back as an arrow pierced the creature’s skull.

“I thought I told you to keep him alive?!” He demanded as he turned to Leliana.”

“I believe we have greater problems.” She argued, gesturing over his shoulder.

Turning quickly, his eyes fell on the object of Leliana’s worry; he had seen fear demons before, of course, in their natural form. Occasionally one would be spit out from a fade rift, and some of his abilities would be rendered unusable. There’s little point in projecting arcane horrors into a victims mind if they’re already experiencing their worst fears.

This fear demon, was much like the rest, spiny limbs reaching out from its back, misshapen face twisted into a snarl as it leaned forward, far too close for Dorian’s comfort. It shouldn’t have caused the lump in his throat quite the way it did.

Reflexes kicked in, and he reached for his staff, it was only when he returned empty handed that he recalled that he was weapon-less, though not defenceless. He conjured fire in the palm of his hand, feeling the flame flickering erratically, unable to tame it.

“You have no staff. Your magic is beyond your grasp; you cannot control it here in the fade. When did you last lose control of your magic, Dorian?” He knew precisely when he had last lost control, the ritual. The release had played out to him again in the nightmare.

He shook away that thought quickly, it was wrong. The last time he’d lost control had been in the tent with Adaar, A thousand arguments hung on his tongue as the flame danced at his fingertips. Instead the words that escaped his lips were, “Why me?”

“A mage with hidden anxieties, what’s more delicious?”

“Are you alone?”

“The Nightmare commands many; you will never truly be rid of us. If one falls, more shall rise. Your inquisitor could not stop the Nightmare, he cannot stop the inevitable.” Dorian had to wonder if that meant Hawke had failed, or if this creature was praising a dead being.

“You cannot hold back the inquisition _demon.”_ Leliana almost spat, her bow straining under the tension she held it under, and Dorian questioned if it whispered different fears to her.

Dorian felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. It was an unnatural essence that sent a chill through the extremity, the distinct feeling that something did not quite belong there. He had felt it many times before.

“You know, for a demon you do rather a lot of talking.”

The spell was prepared on the tip of his tongue, motions planned, energy controlled. With the fades interference he may only get a few clear shots. He needed something that required no aim.

The presence at his side disappeared and he hoped his apprehension over the plan was enough that the spirit could discern his next move. He knew how to call and bind spirits, summon them from the fade, passing through the veil. Surely this was taking a step out of the equation?

When Leliana disappeared from his peripheral vision, replaced by a puff of smoke he took it as a signal. The demon moved slowly, his haste kicking into action as the incantation spilled from his lips. He needed all of the time he could gain.  Placing his hands low he focused his magic on calling forth the benevolent spirits who would aid them, who would allow him to bind, if only for a moment, had they been on living ground.

As time returned to normal, his mana depleted so low that he could barely hold the spell, despite there being little sign that it was effective. As time slipped back into place, the demon stepped forward quickly, and he was forced to look away from his hands, up to the demon towering over him. Any second he would have to break focus, use the remnants of his mana to push it backwards with a fireball. Thankfully an arrow hit its shoulder and it stumbled sideways, attention momentarily diverted.

Shoulders slumping, he suddenly hit the bottom of his pool of power. Like the creature before him he stumbled backwards, only there was someone there to catch him. He turned to smile at what he could only assume must be Cole, the spirit having come to their rescue long before his summon. Instead he turned to find a hazy yellow light, though it made a clear form that was almost certainly human, it shifted, glowing steadily, though retaining its shape.

“I offer my assistance.” Its voice rang.

“What are you?”

“Hope.” The spirit answered but his attention was quickly torn away.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana called as she let loose another arrow.

As his vision fell on the qunari that was hurling a ball of flame at the creature he didn’t dare hope it was _his_ inquisitor, and not another of the creatures created in his image.

And then it didn’t register until he was falling, the clawed hand that struck his face. Magic failed, mana gone. Then the ground was coming up to meet him. Blood clouding his vision. The voice shouting his name had to fight against the ringing that was smothering him like he had fallen head first into the Waking Sea. He was sure that he screamed, but he couldn’t tell, could only feel the pull on his lips, the air escape his lungs.

He did not see the ground eventually found him, only the blood. Then black.


	32. Amatus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so back on chapter 16 when I hit 200 kudos I can remember joking that if I wrote 16 more chapters it might actually kill me, and believe me somethings been trying recently. But alas I have returned!  
> Apologies for the break, which I realised was as long as the hiatus from a while ago, but this one was without warning, personal issues got in the way. But I've been writing a fair amount and have a couple of chapters to keep updates going.  
> I would also just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who is still reading at this stage and leaving kudos, and especially those of you who are commenting, you give me life, and keep this going.  
> contains NSFW...

When Dorian awoke in someone’s arm, their hand tracing the line of his jaw, leaving a trail on his skin that tingled with magical energy, he had expected to open his eyes to, in all honesty, _anyone_ else in the whole of Skyhold.

His surprise was evident when he pulled away from the elf’s features, so near they were blurred, whilst simultaneously letting out a pathetic sound that was somewhere between a cry and strangled yelp. Solas chuckled once, humourlessly. Though the sound held little humour he smiled as he drew away.

“He is safe.”

“Are you sure?” Adaar cut in before Dorian had a chance to ask what in the Maker’s name was going on. His mind was slow, everything taking more than a few seconds to process.

“I am certain, there are no malevolent beings attempting to enter his mind. However, had either of you arrived when these nightmares first began it could have been more easily resolved, without this unnecessary venture into the fade.”

“Thank you for your help Solas.” Adaar stated, and Dorian knew a polite dismissal when he saw one. Thankfully so did Solas, bowing his head slightly he turned and descended the steps from the inquisitors quarters.

Even so they could both clearly hear his grumble of, “Love-struck fools.”

“How are you doing?” Adaar asked, settling on the bed beside Dorian.

“Well, perhaps better if I knew what happened.” He questioned rubbing his temple -fingers falling on soft fabric, his head bandaged- as he attempted to sit upright. Adaar’s arm hooked underneath him, easing him upwards slowly. Dorian was glad for the careful movement, his head swam, and his fingers remained on the soft fabric that enveloped his skull.

“You got hit, went down like a bag of shit to be honest with you.” He joked before his features smoothed, the smile disappearing. “I was worried. When you went down you weren’t moving, thankfully Solas was waiting outside the Eluvian, he had some healing tonics, and a spirit healer managed to clear you up. You know that simulacrum of yours shits me up a little. I don’t want to see your spirit in the fade again.”

“I’ll try to avid it in future. What of Kieran, Morrigan’s son?”

“We found him, and Morrigan’s mother, and a way to defeat the archdemon. We were returning when we stumbled across you, Cole and Leliana fighting back a fear demon.”

“Yes, Cole, he-he appeared suddenly, summoned by mine and Leliana’s distress, and perhaps Morrigan’s, I can only assume. Is the demon dead?”

“As dead as it can be. Leliana filled it like a pincushion, even when it hit the ground she added one more for good luck.”

“Remind me to speak with our spymaster, I believe I have to thank her for not allowing me to become possessed. And I imagine I’ll have to speak with Solas too, there was another spirit there, I believe I called it.”

“Your simulacrum was having a nice chat with it.”

“Was it now? I can’t recall anything that was said between them… What you said, before you left, what did it mean?” Dorian asked pressing close to Adaar’s chest, settling when the Qunari finally wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

“Literal or simplified?” He asked though the worry was still etched deeply in his features.

“Both.”

“Simply, ‘goodbye for now.’ Literally, ‘take refuge in this safety for a small grain of time’.”

“Cute.” He muttered with a smile.

“First time I’ve heard anything qunari be referred to as cute.” Adaar chuckled, Dorian’s body shaking very slightly against his chest.

“Wrong. _You’re_ adorable.” Maker, how much elfroot had the healers given him?

“Is that so?”

“Completely so.” Dorian answered, reaching up to kiss Adaar, it had been a frightfully long time since the two of them had been intimate, beyond the disaster that was them falling asleep.

As he chuckled against the Qunari’s lips his hand slipped lower, palming against Adaar’s breeches.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, pulling Dorian’s hand away. “Healers said a couple of days bed rest.”

“We can take it slow, I’ll still be in bed.” He suggested in his sultry tones.

“No. No strenuous activity. And plenty of sleep.”

“This is ridiculous! If it’s not one thing it’s another, does the Maker not want us to have a bit of fun?”

“The minute the healers say you’re good to go I’m at your service, but until then…”

Dorian sighed as he rolled his eyes. Even then he had to admit that as he lay in Adaar’s arms a yawn pushed its way out of him, and the inquisitor could not hold back his own. It was not long before either of them was captured by the sweet bliss of sleep. 

-

As soon as he had been given permission to leave bed he had all but run to the blacksmiths (he did not run though, in part because it was foolish, and in part because the healers were still supplying him with a small amount of unfiltered elfroot potions and it was playing havoc on his balance. Thankfully though, it was all because he was healing nicely, no concussion.) Of course it was almost the last place in Thedas he would usually have thought to run too with such anticipation, but this time it was worth it.

“I have something for you.” Dorian stated, as he climbed the stairs back into their chambers. Yes, it was _theirs_. Since their return from the fade many of his less essential items had found their home in Adaar’s bedroom, small trinkets on his dresser, personal tomes had their own shelf, small things he had asked for whilst bedridden, plus a few others Adaar had assumed he would like to have. But it was only when he had called it theirs, and Adaar had asked _“Ours?”_ with that smile tugging at his lips that the qunari had begun to consistently call it their room.

The day before, it had officially become theirs, and no longer simply the inquisitors, when it was suggested, that since Dorian’s room was empty bar a few of his belongings, and they’d discovered well enough that the room wasn’t of much use to them, it could have other occupants, refugees who still needed housing in Skyhold. Josephine could be more than persuasive when she desired, and with her clipboard and quill in hand, looming over their bed, the effects of elfroot and strong healing magic still wearing off, Dorian knew she was already writing down the new occupants before he had even truly consented. So now the rest of his few belongings sat in a wooden box in the corner of the room, waiting to find a home.

Mutual domesticity. He shook his head as he remembered how he had spoken of it with Adaar the first time he had been in this room all those months ago. As he remembered how he had never dared to hope for this, sharing his dwellings with another man, a man whom he loved.

A man whom he _loved_.

Heaving a sigh he fidgeted with the necklaces behind his back as Adaar turned from the shelves. They were exactly as he’d hoped. The smith was an arse, but he was an arse with a fine dedication to his craft.

“This is usually the other way around.” Adaar commented with a chuckle, striding around the desk. All so preposterous, so outrageous. _Love._

The dream from a few nights previous flicked back to him. How happy he’d been to hear those words.

“Yes, I am very aware. So I wanted to find you something that I hoped might make up, at least in a small part for everything you’ve done for me. And I, I feel this is fitting, now more than ever.”

“I told you when I gave you your amulet; you’re not indebted to me.” Adaar sighed as he cupped Dorian’s cheek in one of his hands.

“I understand your standing, so take this how you will… You know I detest confessions.” Dorian sighed as he presented the necklaces, but he couldn’t look down at his hands, focused on Adaar’s widening eyes, on his lips, hung open. “Kuul’an Kadan, they mean no matter how far apart life takes us we’re always together, or- or something syrupy like that.”

“Dorian.” He whispered, hands cupping his face, lips brushing his own.

“Bull helped me with most of it, and well, almost everyone was in on it, slaying the dragon, the ordeal that it was with you going down like a sack of qunari shit and all. I still haven’t gotten the blood out of my favourite robes and-”

“Amatus.” Dorian froze, breath hitching in his throat, hands tightening around the necklaces. His lips moved but he couldn’t make the sounds he wanted to, he couldn’t explain how he had never hoped a man would call him that, how he would never hope a man would utter that word to him like this, holding him, caressing him. _Beloved_. This was everything he was told he would never have. A sexual encounter or two, a slave to cover the urges, but _love_?! Loving a man was abhorrent, unmentionable, unthinkable. _Amatus._ Tears threatened to spill. “I’m sorry am I not allowed to say it?”

 “Please, again.” He croaked voice barely above a whisper.

“Amatus.” He cooed, fingers running over Dorian’s cheek. “My heart.”

The tears left hot trails on his cheeks as he pulled Adaar’s lips against his, actions speaking louder than any words he could utter. He closed his eyes, hearing the words over and over, but the only image his mind conjured was the face before him. “I- I never hoped…” But he couldn’t finish.

“Dorian,” Adaar began, holding his face steady in his hands, wiping away warm tears with his thumbs, “My joy, Kadan, Amatus,” Dorian had seen the smile on Adaar’s face a few times, but mostly he’d seen it depicted in art, pure innocence, whole and loving, he’d never imagined that someone would smile at him that way. The way Adaar did when they woke next to one another, when he looked over his book and couldn’t stifle a chuckle, like he was the centre of everything. And he was sure that should his face be capable of it, it was mirrored on his own. “Dorian, I love you.”

A sob wracked through him and he heard the necklaces hit the floor before he realised they were gone. Neither went to retrieve them, holding each other as Dorian sobbed against his chest. But he smiled. He smiled and thought himself mad for it, thought that he must look a lunatic, smiling and sobbing against the qunari in his arms. This was not how he ever envisioned hearing those words. However, much of the error was on his own part, in the tears that streamed down his cheeks, in the hand’s that grabbed tightly at fabric, as if even after those words he might run away.

“Flowers?” Addar asked cautiously, hands running through Dorian’s hair.

Dorian laughed quietly against Adaar’s chest, before sniffing. “I have received gifts from suitors before, but no-one’s ever… No-ones said… Adaar, amatus, I-…”

He wanted to hear those words again, all of them, in Adaar’s low tones, he wanted to hear them over and over. He wanted to say them himself, he wanted the words to slip from his own lips, he wanted to utter it, to scream it, to let it be known. Instead, his head fell against Adaar’s chest. “You know I’m no good with confessions.”

“I love you, Dorian. I love you and I will wait as long as it takes, I will wait for you. I will never ask you to change, nor will I ask you to stay the same.”

“Thank you.” He hiccupped. “You’re a menace; I try to do something nice for you…”

“I love you.”

“I- I… Deid lare animae eil, deid lare omnia.” 

“That sounds an awful lot like a confession.”

“I- _You are my soul, you are everything.”_ The Herald of Andraste smiled down at him, brushed back his hair, and ran fingers gently over his skin. The dream drifted back to him, the pleasant part.

“Dorian, you’re everything to me. I-”

“I love you.”

“You- you do?!” He asked, and the shock in his features almost hurt.

“Of course.” There was no resistance as Dorian pressed against Adaar’s chest, the Qunari falling backwards onto the bed helplessly. Large hands wiped away drying streams of tears as Dorian pressed him against the sheets, straddling his chest.

Dorian was glad for the light tunic, pulling it easily over his head. No sooner had he shown his chest, Adaar’s hands were running over the exposed skin. Quite praises escaping his lips.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m yours.”

“You’re mine, and so damn gorgeous.”

Lips brushing, his body shuddered, “I love you” tumbling freely against Adaar’s skin.

Adaar pressed upwards and Dorian feared for a moment that he was going to fall from the edge of the bed. He settled on Adaar’s waist, legs wrapped around his middle, as the inquisitor pulled his robes awkwardly over his head, and then their lips were crashing. Hands were mussing up his hair and he could not care less about the state so long as those hands were on him.

Words of praise fell from Adaar’s lips and Dorian’s reciprocation is the lips that trail over the qunari’s bared chest, broad, with only a little give, no doubt leaving bruises as he teased the skin, claiming it as his own.

“Get up.” Adaar stated, and Dorian pulled away in shock, the urgency of his tone surprising him. His worry was destroyed when the qunari followed with, “Pants off.”

Dorian was quick to climb away, albeit awkwardly. The soft cotton trousers he had been all but placed in during recovery were a gift from the Maker, he could appreciate that now, even if he had argued against the entire outfit vehemently. A tug at the simple drawstring and they had fallen to his ankles. Adaar took no longer, an expert it seemed in removing his breeches.

Bending quickly Dorian had to wonder what the qunari intended, but when he returned with the previously discarded necklaces, it became apparent. A small smile formed on Adaar’s lips, and no matter its size, it creased the corner of his eyes. Draping one of the necklaces around Dorian’s neck, before wearing the other one, he muttered quietly, “Kadan.”

His hand was gentle on Dorian’s cheek, far too soft for his stiffening cock. Thankfully Adaar sensed the urgency in Dorian’s body, the need was rapidly building, and with hands firmly squeezing his arse, he lifted the mage. Dorian aided, of course, a small jump as he wrapped his legs around Adaar’s waist, the generous members gifted to qunaris already rubbing against his thigh as he settled against Adaar, his own cock pressed against the inquisitor’s stomach.

“Try something different?” Adaar asked with an eyebrow cocked, and Dorian found his inability to conjure full sentences endearing. Breath coming heavy against the Altus’ skin, but Dorian could tell it was not from exertion.

“What did you have in mind?” Dorian asked with an air of nonchalance, but his dick pressed against Adaar’s stomach, hard and begging for the qunari betrayed him.

“Fucking you against that wall.”

“Maker yes.” He moaned before gaining some composure. “I mean-…”

“You made it clear what you mean.” Adaar smirked, already bounding across the room, stopping momentarily at the bedside drawer, leaning Dorian towards it so he could grab the oil.

Back pressed against the rough stone, soft lips pressed against his own, and Dorian couldn’t stifle his moan. Adaar held out his hand in a gesture that had become understood between them when the qunari’s hand was otherwise occupied, Dorian as such, tipped a generous amount of the oil into the palm of his hand.

The hand disappeared beneath him almost immediately, so he launched the bottle across the room, hoping that it landed on the bed. When he didn’t hear the bottle smash against the ground he could only assume he had been successful, but he was distracted quickly, a slickened finger circling his hole.

“Kaffas, stop teasing!”

Adaar’s answer was a low chuckle, voice already husky as his lips brushed over Dorian’s neck. “I love you.”

“I-I love you too,” He sighed, the words still felt new and foreign on his tongue, but the swell in his chest felt right. “But maker hurry up. Forget your fingers, just get to the point.”

“You sure?”

“We’ve done it before, nothing I can’t handle.” He reassured, the desperation seeping into his voice.

“Thank the maker, oils trying to run straight down my legs.”

Lining himself up, Adaar sighed against Dorian’s skin. Hot breath as he pressed against his tight hole, slicked and desperate, he pushed hard and slow, giving him time to take him in. Moans tumbled from Dorian’s lips as he was filled, the pain mixing with the pleasure. Hands gripping his hips he balanced himself with his own hands holding Adaar’s shoulders, as the qunari pulled out slowly, lifting Dorian off his dick ever so slightly. It was the Altus who tightened his legs around Adaar’s waist, slamming back onto his waiting cock was a scream of pleasure.

As the knock on the door came Dorian stifled his moan, gripping tighter onto Adaar’s shoulder. Giving Adaar’s previous, he hissed, “Do _not_ invite them in.”

“I’m not stupid.” He replied through gritted teeth. With a cough he called, “Is this important?”

Even then his voice was hoarse, and Dorian only hoped that they mistook it for grogginess, an afternoon nap perhaps. Highly unlikely though. He was sure their cries could have been heard as the messenger had ascended the steps closest to Adaar’s quarters.

“I have word from the spymaster.” The voice replied and Dorian recognised it, the messenger, Max. Dear maker that poor lad.

Adaar shifted, holding still for too long making the weight evident, and Dorian had to stifle the moan, biting hard into his bottom lip, as Adaar shifted inside him, his own cock rubbing against Adaar’s gut.

“Wh- What is it?” The inquisitor just about moaned, and Dorian had to stifle a laugh. He clenched, ever so slightly and Adaar quickly found a way to stifle his moans, his teeth sinking into the tender skin at Dorian’s collar bone.

“Some of the inner circle were spotted leaving Emprise du Lion yesterday morning, riding hard, they’re close to returning, should be back by the evening serah. The army is trailing far behind.”

“Thank you.” Dorian called, aware that Adaar was very much otherwise occupied, hand teasing his nipple, lips sucking dark bruises onto his flushed skin, stifling the moans. “If that will be all..?”

“Yes serah.” He called through the door and Dorian could hear the speed with which he took the steps, fleeing from the scene.

Almost before Dorian had time to recover from the incident Adaar had already pressed him upwards, his body ramming back down on his cock, the moan escaping unbidden. His nails dug into Adaar’s shoulders so tightly he was surprised he had not yet drawn blood, but he was sure there would be marks, like the bruises that would no doubt be peppered over his neck, Adaar’s fingerprints on his hips. His other hand ran through the orange tresses that the qunari _really_ needed to do something about, but in that moment Dorian revelled in the length, in the way Adaar moaned against his skin as the mages fingers tugged at his hair.

“Kaffas again!” Dorian cried, and Adaar was always one to oblige when it came to fulfilling the Altus’ sexual desires.

The stone scraped against his back as Adaar pulled back, pushing inside him again over and over a cacophony of moans breaking through both of their lips. His hand slipped between them, pumping his cock, drawing his orgasm closer.

Breaths turned to pants as he stroked himself with no real rhythm, Adaar’s fucking throwing him off whenever he tried to gain some semblance of pace. His legs gripped tighter, as he pushed against every thrust. Lips brushed against his cheek, releasing a groan as Adaar came, as he showered the Altus in kisses between praises, between the thrusts that drove ever deeper, filling him, the hot seed already threatening to run down his thighs. Old trysts were forgotten then, his cries loud and clear, as he reached climax, burying his face against Adaar’s clammy skin, his seed coating both of their stomachs.

No sooner had he caught his breath, lips were crushing against his as they stumbled towards the bed. Adaar let out a cry that dissolved into a laugh as they fell backwards onto the sheets, still wrapped together.

“I do love you.” Dorian stated. “You seemed surprised.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to say it. I certainly wasn’t expecting this.” He held the necklace in his hand, wiping away some of Dorian’s spunk.

“You’d better take good care of it in the future, I won’t be hunting a dragon every time you manage to get it destroyed.” Dorian, sat up, his legs still straddling Adaar’s waist, so he could admire the way the tooth sat against the qunari’s chest.

“You think I’m going to break it?!”

“Asks innocently the man who ran into an Eluvian, ran towards a screaming Divine, wrestled a wyvern.” Dorian chuckled, running his finger over the scar at Adaar’s waist. “Why, the list is endless.”

“Honestly I thought you were too drunk to remember the wyvern story.”

“Me? Too drunk? Never have I heard such a ridiculous accusation. I am always precisely the right amount of drunk. Well, perhaps there was-”

“Shit!” Adaar cried rocking forward, sending Dorian backwards.

Before the Altus could question the sudden movement he saw the reason, the mark flaring, green light dancing in Adaar’s palm. He had barely known the inquisitor back when it had bothered him severely, and since then he had never complained of pains.

“Are you-”

He was thrown from the bed, not by Adaar, but by an unnatural force, the ground shifting beneath them as the room was bathed in green. When the world eventually quieted strong hands helped him to his feet.

“What in the Maker’s name was that?!” He cried as he looked up to Adaar.

The Herald did not reply. Knowing that Dorian was safe on his feet, Adaar stepped closer to the balcony, staring up at the sky, and the Tevinter followed, afraid of what he might find. The mark audibly crackled, still spitting out light beyond what was now considered ‘normal’. As he looked to the sky he discovered why.

The skies had parted, split open like the mark, bright and green and unnatural. Another breach had torn apart the heavens. He gazed down, at where it cast its unnatural light. “Is that where the temple of sacred ashes used to be?”

“I think so.” Adaar answered.

“What does it mean?” He was afraid he already knew the answer.

Adaar’s hand wrapped around his, offering a comforting squeeze. “As cliché as it is, the beginning of the end.”


	33. Doom Upon All the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So Varric, you’re a betting man.” Dorian started. “What’s your estimation? Think we can win this?”_  
>  “Are you asking me to give odds on our beloved inquisitor’s success?” They all looked to Adaar who was then searching through his pack evidently preoccupied.  
> “What would that look like?” Dorian chuckled mischievously. “Three to One?”  
> “In his favour?” Varric asked gesturing to the qunari, whose tongue was hanging out ever so slightly in concentration, and it took all of the mages willpower to keep from laughing.  
> “After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking?”  
> “Yeah that guy has a fucking dragon!” Bull added emphasising the fact that the odds are in fact not in their favour.  
> “Are you bastards taking bets against me?” Adaar asked finally looking up from his pack.  
> “Now now, if I weren’t here it would be five to one at least.” Dorian stated. He received a hearty slap on the back from Varric.  
> “You know what, I’ll take those odds.” Adaar admitted.

Adaar had the sense to pull on clothes and order Dorian to the moment it had all sunk in. Even then they barely had enough time to cover some of their modesty before Cassandra burst into the room unannounced.

“Inquisitor?!”

“All is well…” He replied, pausing for a moment. “ _I’m_ well, _all_ is not well.”

“The breach!” She panted, evidence that she had run immediately to Adaar’s quarters. “It has opened again… near Haven.”

“That’s what we suspected.” Dorian stated, pulling on his robes, thankful that he had made the decision to grab his breeches first.

With the door already open from Cassandra’s abrupt arrival, Leliana could walk in, followed, it seemed, by a parade of advisors. Cullen appeared to be the only one somewhat embarrassed by their state of undress, but even then he made no move to leave, simply hiding behind his clipboard until they appeared slightly more modest. From his hiding place he asked, “I assume you are both well?”

“We’re fine. Leliana-” Adaar began, and Dorian could only assume that the war council was being held here. “Can you tell me how long before the inner circle arrive?”

“A little over two hours.”

“But our forces are not with them, our friends have ridden hard to arrive here as quickly as they have.” Cullen added. “We must wait for more soldiers to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

“’Tis not a luxury we can afford.” Morrigan announced as she too entered the room. “You either close the breach once more, or it swallows the world.”

“But that’s madness!” Josephine argued. “Why would Corypheus do this? Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

“He is desperate!” Cassandra answered. “This is a ploy to position the Herald exactly where he needs him.”

As the arguments continued Dorian turned to Adaar. Awfully silent, as he looked down at the ground. “Amatus?” He whispered, and somehow he was heard over the conflicts. “I already know what you’re going to do.”

“I don’t know how this is going to go. I don’t know who’s going to come out.”

“None of us do, it’s something we were well aware of when we signed up, frankly I think many of us are surprised you, and any of us, have made it this far.” His lips pulled in a small smile. “Really there’s no other way you _could_ go, is there? When it’s your time you’ll no doubt go in some selfless act that’s equal parts heroism and stupidity.”

“Yeah, probably.” It was only then that Dorian realised the room was silent apart from them. Adaar straightened, addressing his advisors. “Gather armour and weapons, prepare the mounts. We’ll meet the inner circle on the road.”

They all looked on with resolve. Leliana was the one to break the silence, “I will contact my agents in the area. They may be able to help.”

“Tell them not to engage until we arrive.”

She nodded, “Maker be with you.” And with that she left the room.

“I will secure weapons and armour for you, and instruct master Dennet.” Cullen announced, “Good luck.”

“And I… Maker.” Josephine began, “Pardon me, I will find the inner circle and any who remain at Skyhold, you will need all of the assistance you can find.”

“Thank you Josie.” And with that, Josephine left, Morrigan and Cassandra following closely behind, the seeker, nodding sullenly in their direction.

“Dorian…”

“Don’t you dare say good bye or something lugubrious. That’s not what this is.”

“That’s what you made it sound like.”

“Yes well, you’ll note I said ‘when’. There’s still plenty of time for that whole dying malarkey.”

“Are you going to be okay, you’ve only just recovered from a head injury?”

“I’ll be fine… You know, I spoke to Hawke, before Adamant. Told him I fancied myself a tragedy, tales about loss and the forbidden always tend to sell better, have a lasting legacy not like some romantic sop. How wrong I was. Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“You’ll try not to. I’d be awfully upset if you… If you did.”

“I promise. I’ll try my best. Nehraa her-issala panahedan.”

“Festis bei umo canavarum.”

“And I’m sure one day you will be the death of me.” He replied with a fond smile.

-

They waited at the crossroads an hours ride from Skyhold; it was essentially east to Fereldan, west to Orlais. So they sat atop the ridge, all gazing intently to the sun setting in the west, waiting for the silhouettes to appear, occasionally glancing back at the tear in the sky. Cole was exceptionally quiet and Dorian didn’t know whether he found that concerting or comforting.

The first they saw was Bull, because of course it was Bull, how could they miss the hulking warrior? Despite everyone’s sombre expressions Dorian couldn’t help the small voice that reminded him that he and the qunari shared a bed partner. It was, of course, the least of his worries.

“This shite doesn’t look good. Like earthquake, pretty bad. Giant glowy arse crack in the sky, really bad. Herald of Andraste waiting for us to turn up, really really bad.” Sera announced as they drew closer. “Corophe-shite innit?”

“Yeah, and he’s pretty pissed.” Addar answered.

“I assume we’re going to stop him?” Blackwall asked.

“That is the plan.” Cassandra supplied.

“Well then, whatever are we waiting for?” Vivienne asked as if the whole ordeal was simply another of her Orlesian balls.

“You’ve been riding all day. Are you sure you don’t want to rest for a moment? You’re all good to go?”

“Listen Tal,” Varric began, “That bastard has taken something from all of us, or at the very least made or lives hell for a while. I think we’re about ready to kick his ass. So when you’re ready, your inquisitorialness?”

“Ready?” He called to the group receiving a resounding cheer in the affirmative. They were no army, but Maker be damned they were going to hit like one. Adaar smiled, raising his staff high, “For Thedas, we won’t let him have it without a fight! And for those that gave themselves so that we could bring this fucker down, once and for all!”

-

When they arrived they discovered Leliana’s scouts in trouble, and Cassandra gave little consideration for her own safety, in a display so graceful and deadly Dorian didn’t think he’d ever see such from the lady Seeker, or anyone else for that matter. She launched from her steed, revealing her weapon in mid-air, her sword plunging into a demon before her feet even touched the ground. Felling it in one clear hit.

“Harding?!” Adaar cried, as he too jumped from his Hart before it fully had a chance to stop. “You got a report for me?”

“Inquisitor?” The dwarf cried scrambling to her feet, gripping onto her bow tightly. “We tried to wait for you to arrive, but Corypheus has an orb, he’s cutting down inquisition scouts like they’re nugs. A few of us managed to get away but then… Demons!”

“After all of this is over let me buy you a drink, somewhere not deadly.”

“Sounds good to me.” She chuckled, but it was strained. “I’ve seen enough of Thedas to last me a little while.”

“Where is he now?”

Laughter rang out against the ruins, dark and malevolent, one they all recognized by now. “Herald, is it? I knew you would come.”

The creature that was Corypheus appeared before them, parting smoke that was entirely unnecessary. He was far taller up close, Dorian thought idly, and he was pleased to discover that his mind could conjure thoughts other than a repeated loop of the word ‘shit’, which he was sure would escape his lips should he dare to try and speak. That looming form bent low, bowing to Adaar.

“Of course, you think I’d ignore the giant rip in the sky? No more running away, or getting your lackeys to fight your battles, this all ends here.” The inquisitor roared, and Dorian had to respect the fact that he was still functioning; knowing well that the odds were never really in his favour. Three to one they’d joked all that time ago.

“And so it shall.”

Thrown to the ground for the second time that day, he managed to stumble to his feet in time to see the ruins rise above them, the ground beneath trembling as rocks and buildings ascended to the heavens. Bull and Harding were close by, and though he couldn’t see her, he could hear Sera’s violent swearing.

“Where’s Adaar?!” He asked once the ground had stilled, he realised that he was not as close to the ground as he had imagined, only when he peered over the edge, his stomach churning at the distance. Even then he was below the largest platform.

“He got taken up there.” Harding answered, gesturing to the majority of the ruins, floating fifty yards away, a small distance if they hadn’t been separated by a chasm and floating islands. “I tried to hold on but I got knocked away.”

“What is this shite?!” Sera demanded, clambering onto their rock, “Stupid magic prick couldn’t fight like normal people?”

Bull grunted in agreement before adding, “It makes it easier if he doesn’t have to take us all on.”

“In that case we have to try and reach Adaar, who else was with him?” Dorian asked.

“I didn’t get much of a look, but Cassandra for sure, Lady Vivienne and I think I felt Cole, you know in that weird way.” Harding answered, readying her bow.

“You’re coming with us?” Dorian questioned in surprise.

“Of course, I’m not going to sit on a rock and wait for it to end.”

“Then let’s get up there.” Bull suggested, already stood beside the platform, hands clasped low, ready to give a foot up.

Sera took it with a grumble, being lifted a little too forcefully as she landed on the ground in a ball of swear words and flailing limbs. Harding went next, and Bull forwent his previous method, simply wrapping his hands around the scout’s sides, lifting her onto the ledge, ignoring the crimson in her cheeks. When Dorian finally stepped forward Bull reached out to grip him and he swatted the hand away. “Don’t even think about it.”

With a grin, Bull knelt again, giving Dorian the step he needed. When he turned to help the qunari he had already managed to climb atop the ledge, and was rising to his full height, dusting off his hideous trousers.

“Where to next?” Sera asked.

“That looks like our best option.” Harding suggested, gesturing to several of the levitating platforms. “But there are demons, and is that-”

“Solas and Varric!” Dorian interjected, watching the two fight back what appeared to be a never ending supply of demons.

Bull grunted as he leapt past them onto the next platform charging towards the creatures, “No fun if we don’t get to knock a few heads.”

“Ugh, frigging hate demons.” Sera groaned as she loosed an arrow into one of them, thankfully a few platforms away.

Following the Bull, Dorian leapt over the small gap, feeling the earth move beneath him, it was unsettling to say the least. As soon as he was on firm ground he directed a fireball at the despair demon that was upon them, still advancing towards the platform that held their friends.

“It took you long enough.” Varric grumbled as they approached.

“In case you haven’t noticed it isn’t exactly suitable ground for hiking, or running, or simply walking for that matter.” Dorian shot back as he fired a bolt of arcane energy at a terror demon, watching it dissipate into green smoke before he turned to the rage demon that Bull was trying to chop down, blasting it with freezing magic. The creature slowed, until it came to a complete standstill, its body encased in ice. Bull gave a triumphant laugh as he shattered it into pieces, its shards skidding on the rock and falling to the ground far below them.

“I am only glad you arrived when you did. We must reach Corypheus.” Solas admitted after felling another demon with a flying boulder that Dorian hoped he hadn’t plucked from the ground beneath them. There was scarce flooring as it was, they couldn’t stand to lose more.

“That’s what we were attempting before we-”

He was interrupted suddenly by a deafening roar, and the unmistakable sound of Sera screaming, “Dragon! Wait, _two_ dragons?!”

“Morrigan has pulled through on her promise.” Solas stated as if it was an answer as to why there was now two dragons fighting above them.

“Morrigan?!” Dorian asked in surprise.

“Yes, she used her abilities to transform into a dragon that could match Corypheus’. We tried to inform you, but you were too medicated to remember.”

“Morrigan is a dragon?” Bull asked with wide eyed wonder.

Sera snorted, appearing behind them to fire more arrows into the remaining demons that blocked their path, “Not in a million years.”

Their joking was interrupted by a screech overhead, the dragons falling through the air in a tangled mess. They remained silent, waiting for the inevitable thud, and when it came, one roar surfaced, none could be sure if it was Morrigan or the supposed archdemon, but he could give it a good guess.

In the next moment Dorian was leaping onto the next platform, striking a desire demon with his staff before pushing it back with a fireball. Varric joined quickly, firing a quick succession of bolts into the being, driving it back with ever shot, but eventually the demon fell, leaving a trail of purple smoke. He turned quickly, launching a spear of ice into the next target, surprisingly a Venatori brute. What Dorian immediately assumed was the only living thing that had opposed them thus far, before he saw the flesh drawn tightly over bone. Not quite as living as he’d first thought.

The ice punctured his shoulder, and then Bull was upon the undead thing, distracting it. As the battle continued Dorian moved cautiously to the edge of the rock, looking over at his objective, the final platform. “I can’t reach it. I won’t be able to jump that far.” He shouted over the clatter of swords.

There was a moment of silence, the final blow delivered, and he turned to find Bull looming close to him, the Venatori’s body in his hands. “Let me toss you.”

“Are you insane?!”

Wordlessly, Bull turned, before launching the body across to the platform, armour and all, watching it roll limply across the rocky floor, before tumbling to the ground far below them. “And I’d say with all the armour he was a couple pounds heavier than you.”

“I will not be tossed around like a sack!”

“C’mon! This whole job not one person has let me throw them; this is the last chance, the final battle. Think of the mayhem!”

Dorian paused for a moment, looking at the drop below, how easily he could fall to his death, to the body, such a long distance away, lying there.

With a sigh he turned to Bull, who was already grinning. “ _Just. This. Once_."


	34. Doom Upon You in Particular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter...
> 
> _“I always fancied myself a tragedy, a tale of loss and forbidden love sounds far more fitting than some cliché.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the huge break, I've moved house, been living with my parents, receiving more shitty news, life in general has been getting in the way. I'm still not 100% on the ending, there are two possible routes I have planned, so it may take me a little while to update again I'm afraid since I have to pick, and then write it.  
> Anyway, hope you Enjoy!

He regretted it, _immediately_. Sera’s high pitched cackling, Harding’s chuckles; that grin spread over Bull’s lips as he was cradled in his arms. He wishes he’d taken the time to learn that blasted fade step Solas executed so well, surely that would have been preferable to this.

“Three.” Bull began swinging him forward.

“You’re joking? You’re not seriously going to-”

“Two.” He announced with another swing.

“Kaffas, are we going on or after-?!”

He received his answer in the form of Bull yelling “One!” as the arms that had cradled him disappeared. During his time in the air he was surprised that he had long enough to think that he should inspect the amulet they had retrieved from Alexius further in an attempt to craft a spell that also slowed his world, not just the one around him. Not that he wanted to spend more time in the air, quite the contrary, but it would have been nice to get his bearings before he managed to cast a barrier, softening the impact ever so slightly as he hit the platform with just as much grace as the body before him, but far more noise.

“He’s a screamer.” Bull roared with laughter.

“Like we didn’t already know that! You been near him and Inky?! The night after the dragon killing?” Sera supplied in-between her own raucous laughs. Even Solas’ lips quirked in a slight smile.

“I’m glad you’re all having fun. Bearing in mind the world could very much end.” He called back sarcastically.

“Dorian?” A familiar voice asked and he looked up to the grey warden as he dusted himself off. Blackwall looked past him for a moment, tipping his head to those still on the platform. “Makers breath am I thankful to see you all well. That blighted dragon was still alive.”

“We assumed as much. How did you get here?”

“I was stuck on that island over there, told them I’d catch up. They need all the help they can get.”

“We will find another way around.” Solas said, looking at the Bull for a moment, evidently deciding strongly against the same treatment.

“I could give it a go.” Bull suggested pulling up his trousers before making a dramatic grab for Sera.

“Oi! Piss off!”

“You should go on and find the inquisitor.” Solas sighed.

Dorian nodded, gripping his staff tightly as they headed onwards through the ruins. It was clear of demons, or other such harmful creatures. Evidently Adaar and his team had already successfully cut their way through here.

“How are you holding?” Blackwall asked quietly.

“How am I- Why do you ask?”

“There’s always talk at the tavern, about you and the inquisitor.”

“Talk? How scandalous is this talk? Do you have a question? Are your whiskers quivering with curiosity?”

“I would not pry into the inquisitors business.” He answered blandly.

“Are you certain? I could draw diagrams.”

“No. Thank you.” He answered quickly. “I know that you and I often share a difference of opinions,” _Putting it mildly._ Dorian almost stated. “I only mean to ask how you are handling this. Him there, you here, Corypheus out to get him. You look… tense.”

“I just got tossed by a qunari, and not in the way I’m used to.” He flicked his gaze to the Warden only long enough to see the crimson of his bristled cheeks. “But when you put it like that I suppose I should be worried. I suppose I am. But he has done worse and come out with a smile and some bruises. I trust him to stay alive… And he knows that if he doesn’t, _I’ll kill him_.”

They both paused for a moment listening to the sound that echoed through the ruins, though one not heard often it couldn’t be mistaken, the gurgled roar of a dragon. More of a screech, it was its final sound no doubt.

“The breach is growing!” Blackwall cried. True to his word the crack in the sky was spreading its tendrils, growing wider with every passing moment. “Quickly, we must find the inquisitor.”

“And that,” Dorian began, gesturing towards the glowing red light at the tip of the platform, not only did it emit it’s light, but a force of magic so strong that he was certain Blackwall too could feel it. “Has to be them.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Dorian merely nodded before sprinting forward, following the obvious path, towards the magical disturbance. The veil was thin here (and he almost laughed at the fact that the voice in his head sounded surprisingly like Solas for a moment) demons passing through easily, he imagined Adaar had quite the battle on his hands.

He was so concentrated on reaching the light, so focused on the edge of the battle that he could now see, Cassandra cutting down a demon of pride with what appeared to be invisible help, that when the ground abruptly dropped below him, he barely had enough time to right himself. It was only by Blackwall’s sudden grip on the back of his robes that he did not fall over the edge.

“Thank you.” He said quickly, trying to retain his modesty, before inspecting the battle, more if it coming into view now that he teetered on the edge.

Giving it a quick examination he realised there was no other way down. The Warden had evidently realised the same, and had already jumped from the ledge. Dorian was about to make a calculated leap when Adaar stepped backwards into his line of sight, pushed back by a rage demon. As Dorian prepared his own spell the qunari hit it with a blast of ice before knocking it to ground with a sharp swing of his staff.

Dorian hit the demon with a spirit mark before it could dissipate. Thankfully it’s spectral form remained, much to Adaar’s surprise. The qunari turned quickly, eyes locking with Dorian’s as a smile spread over his lips, there was a deep gash over his brow, blood running down his cheek, but Dorian didn’t let it worry him for now. He could worry later, right then they had a darkspawn magister to conquer.

He jumped from the ledge, grunting softly on impact then running immediately to Adaar’s side, throwing a barrier around them.

“Decided to join us?” The inquisitor joked, striking down lighting upon a group of demons that were heading towards Blackwall.

“I couldn’t miss out on _all_ the fun now, could I?” Dorian answered in return, planting a glyph on the ground that he knew would detonate the moment Corypheus inched back ever so slightly. “How are we doing?”

“Almost there. He’s not hitting as hard, but honestly, neither are we. I just need a moment to get that orb.”

“You’re certain that’s a good idea?”

“No, but it’s the only one we’ve got.”

“And how exactly do you plan to put it into action?”

“I’m making it up as I go along.” He admitted, hurling a ball of rock at Corypheus that got intercepted by a fear demon leaping towards Cassandra.

“We need to cut you a clear path.”

“That would be nice.” Adaar admitted as Dorian’s glyph finally detonated, the Magister crying out in anger.

Corypheus held out the orb, Dorian tried to place a barrier around them, but before the spell could cast, red lightning struck the ground on which they stood, sending them all stumbling to the floor, the barrier never materialising.

“Not like this! I have walked the halls of the golden city, crossed the ages…” Corypheus began, orb in hand, sparking with that eerie red light. Even as it crackled with power, Dorian watched Adaar climb to his feet, gripping the hand that bore the mark, spitting out an equal amount of magical energy. He was going to do something stupid. Something stupid and recklessly heroic.

The rest of Corypheus’ grand speech was lost to the Altus as he too climbed unsteadily to his feet, hurling a fireball at a corpse, ensuring a clear line of sight for the inquisitor. Cassandra too had risen, striking down one of the remaining demons.

The mark flickered into life as Adaar held out his palm, and Corypheus was not the only one evidently surprised as the orb flew from his grasp, stopping before Adaar’s out stretched palm, even as he stumbled backwards in shock.

Dorian turned when he heard a soft grunt, aiding Vivienne in destroying the final remaining demon with a shock of electricity that paralysed the creature long enough for the Enchanter to remove its head from its torso with a swipe of her spirit blade. He barely turned back in time to witness Adaar lower his raised hand, a cone of green light that reached the breach above them, retreating into the orb.

“You wanted into the fade?” He asked, snarling at the Magister that fell to his knees before them, defeated. Adaar raised his hand once more, pointed at Corypheus the darkspawn burst into green light, writhing as he was pulled into the rift that had opened within him, until his body disappeared completely. “There’s a one way ticket. Do send my regards.”

With that the orb lost its light, rolling from the qunari’s open palm, bouncing once against the ground.

“Guess we missed the _real_ fight?” Sera’s voice called from behind. They all turned; the other half of the inner circle all stood atop the ledge. It was the signal they needed. Everything was done, it was over. Adaar was the first to burst into laughter, hunched over as he was, gasping for air in between every shake. Strangely it was Cassandra who quickly followed suit, and then others joined, cheering as they looked upon the battlefield, bereft of bodies, the demons dissipated long ago. It was done, they all lived.

“Then it’s over?” Vivienne asked, “How lovely.”

“Kind of anticlimactic if you ask me.” Varric chuckled.

 “And you’re alive. And I’m alive! Incredible, isn’t it?” Dorian asked, barely containing his astonishment. Adaar smiled warmly, reaching out to take his hand, but before their fingers could meet the earth beneath them shifted, and they were thrown apart.

Dorian had to curse as he barely managed to remain upright, it was the third time that day the world had decided to try and knock him on his arse.

“What the frig was that?” Sera demanded.

“We’re on a floating island in the sky?” The Iron Bull asked slowly. “What goes up…” It took them all a moment of realisation, and then the first rock fell, colliding with the edge of the platform, taking some with it.

“Get to lower ground!” Blackwall cried, but by then it was too late, the pit of Dorian’s stomach, lurched to somewhere near his throat as the platform they all resided on began to drop.

He noticed idly what was occurring on the ledge above the battlefield. Bull had managed to grip a flailing Sera, and a surprised Harding in his arms. Then running with them towards lower ground, he tugged Varric as they disappeared. There was no way they could make it over that ledge. Not in time. There was scarce little time to acknowledge what had occurred before they all hit the ground.

 

His eyes flickered open slowly. The persistent ringing in his ears was rather distracting, the fog over his vision not much better. As he rose cautiously to his hands and knees, some of the distractions dimmed. It was in equal parts a blessing and a curse, a blessing that his senses had returned to him, a curse in the respect that he could now lay his eyes upon what little remained of the ruins. Piles of rubble, huge rocks turned to dust under the pressure.

He heard his name called at roughly the same time as he felt the hands grip tightly around him, launching him several yards, to land on his shoulder. A barrier encased him only after he had hit the floor. He vaguely felt the debris pelt the magical shield, heard the crack as another boulder hit the ground. He groaned in agony for a moment, but there was still movement it couldn’t be more than a sprain.

Turning completely to take in the reason for his final fall, he concluded that his senses were a curse. Adaar lay on the ground before him, blood soaked and limp.

“Amatus?!” Dorian scrambled forward, reaching for the unconscious qunari, hunting for a form of life, searching past the blood, dirt, debris, and limbs splayed at strange angles, overlooking the boulder that rested on his arm. He had to find a pulse or a breath. He needed to find something, _anything_ that proved he was alive.

As tears prickled the corner of his eyes, his breathing ragged, he hiccuped against the sob that broke through. Maker please. _Something. Anything._

“Maker!” He begged. “Please no. No! You promised!”

_Something. Anything._

He rocked back, as another sob broke through, tears unleashed, freefalling down his cheeks. He searched Adaar’s belt for a potion with no luck; they’d all been used in the battle. Instead all he could do was push away the rock crushing his amatus’ arm, straining against the tears, sighing in relief as it rolled away, only to reveal the bone that jutted from his wrist.

He could only catalogue it with the other injuries, two head wounds, dislocated shoulder. Blood. Maker so much blood. He could do no more than delicately hold Adaar’s hand.

“Please, amatus, kadan. Please, you’re not allowed to go. If you go I swear I’ll- I’ll…”

“Inquisitor? Are you alive?” Cassandra’s call rang out like a beacon.

“Cassandra?!” He cried. The footsteps that followed were a blessing. They halted, and he turned his head for only a moment, long enough to see the horror etched on her face. “Get- Get Vivienne, or Solas or, or something! He needs healing, _now_!”

She did not acknowledge him, simply turned, her footsteps fading with the sound of her calls, begging for Vivienne to hear her. Eventually there was a reply, a short tempered response that he didn’t quite catch. But then there were feet, running, growing louder.

“They’re going to fix you.” He promised deaf ears.

Vivienne quickly dropped to her knees beside him, dropping her staff in favour of using her hands. Some other time he might have laughed at the state of her, covered head to toe in filth. Now he could only attempt to hold back a sob. “Step back dear, I need my space.”

“I’m not letting go!” He argued, but Vivienne shook her head slightly.

“No, you’re staying put, another mage will be useful. Cassandra darling, space please.” The warrior stepped back, joining the small group that was gathering.

She was clinical in her approach, features set in concentration as her hands roamed over broken bones and body, but not mending. Dorian watched as her hands paused over Adaar’s head, she sighed as she shifted, her palms lighting with a faint blue glow. “I can make no promises.”

“Just please, do what you can.”

“I am no spirit healer.” She sighed, leaving off the endearment Dorian knew she wanted to add, “This is quite like trying to put together a shattered vase with a hammer and nails. There is no hope for him”

“No.” He argued. “No, there has to be something. I can- I can bring him back. I-I’ll find a way. I’ll find a way to bring him back. This can’t be it. I… I love him.”

“Dorian.” Cassandra murmured, her hand resting gently on his shoulder like he would run should she startle him. “He is gone.”

Cole muttered quietly, his voice becoming more forceful with every word, “Help, the hurt, the helpless. Settling, he was worried I wouldn’t make friends.Hurt, it hurts, it hurts, someone make it stop hurting, but he said no. I wanted to help, but he told me to wait, told me they might get better. It would be hours. But they found a way, he lived.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra asked.

“Adaar. He said, he told me not to end it, told me to wait, to let the healers help, and now the man walks again. They can help.”

“Kid, he’s gone, there’s no way we could get him help in time.” Varric stated, rubbing a soothing hand over Cole’s arm.

“But then… Why can’t I raise him?” Dorian asked slowly. “I should be able to feel it, an empty vessel, but I can’t. There’s something there! Cole, how do you know?!”

“ _Pain. Hurt. It hurts so much. Make it- End it. Let the pain end.”_

“Maybe… Maybe we should put him out of his misery?” Varric asked quietly. “If he’s hurting that much the ride to Skyhold won’t help him.”

“We can only try.” Cassandra sighed, but he could hear the defeat in her voice, he knew they did not believe there was hope.

“I’ll ride with him.” Dorian insisted.

“No.” The seeker argued. “You’re a noble mage, ride back to Skyhold ahead of us, and inform the healers of our arrival, ensure they are ready. Bull, lift Adaar onto a horse, _I_ will ride with him.”

When he made to argue she silenced him quickly, “Dorian, we can both admit that I am stronger than you, I can hold him, but you’re faster, all we need you to give us is time. Vivienne and Cole, you will ride alongside me, ensure he survives the trip.”

He nodded dumbly as he finally released Adaar’s hand. He turned to where Sera was already wrestling with the Imperial Warmblood, taking the horses reigns from her with a quick look back at Cassandra, not daring to look at the crumpled body.

“Maker be with you.”

_Time._

_He could give them time._


	35. Where Angels Fear to Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, but not quite the end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after this there will be an epilogue to... explain, I guess, and wrap everything up in a neat little bow, since I decided to start playing with most authors worst nightmare.

The gates to Skyhold had never seemed foreboding to him before, he had never imagined how they could. Even with their crumpling rock and reinforced wooden gates, each wider than he was tall, it always seemed like sanctuary. The first time they had found it, and every time after, there had been a distinct sense of home about the old fort.

Now it was empty, bleak. No soldiers patrolled the walls, all still in the Arbor wilds. No scouts flitted between the turrets, no clatter of training, or the familiar sound of laughter spilling from the Herald’s rest.

A dim light flickered in Cullen’s tower, stark against the night sky, and he had already known the Commander would be waiting for their return, a shame it was not how they had hoped. As the gates swung open for him without having to make his presence known, he was already on his way. The ride back had given him enough time to clear his mind, to focus on the task at hand, to plan. Unfortunately the visibly concerned commander before him played no part in that plan.

“Dorian?! What are you doing here, alone?” Cullen asked before Dorian had even come to a stop.

“I require a spirit healer.”

“A healer?! Who is injured?”

“I can’t talk, healer.” He demanded as he jumped from his barely stationary steed, striding past the commander.

“Our most competent healers are still in the Wilds, tending to injured soldiers.” Cullen stated. That wasn’t part of the plan.

“Th-There must be healers, still in the tower.” Dorian argued as he stormed away, heading towards the mage tower, to where he knew his ultimate goal was. Apprentice healers were ultimately no use, at this point they were his back-up plan. What they needed was _time._

He could only vaguely hear Cullen behind him, his feet trying to keep pace, his clinking armour, his incessant questions, ending with, “It’s Adaar, isn’t it?”

Dorian didn’t offer him an answer, simply threw open the door to the tower, watching as a few apprentices and older mages scrambled like cockroaches looking for a crevice, those not able to fight. Anyone would think they were practising blood magic the way they fled from the ex-Templar by his side. All but a few, who stood to attention, and one mage who rolled his eyes, barely recognisable in simple garnet robes, adapted from something that could have been found in a circle. He looked older, but Dorian had no time to dwell on that.

Without further hesitation Dorian gripped his former mentor by the collar, lifting him from his seat with such force that he saw the surprise in Alexius’ features, and heard Cullen’s shocked outburst.

“How does it work?!” He demanded.

“It is a pleasure to finally see you too Dorian.” Alexius growled, a shock of electricity coursing through his fingertips, pushing Dorian away. The younger mage bounced back, pressing him against one of the shelves in the tower, various vials shaking, threatening to topple.

“Tell me how the amulet works!” He could feel Cullen’s hand on his shoulder but he shook it off.

“You theorised it as much as I! I believe you even used it, surely you have a grasp on its capabilities. Now unhand me!”

“Don’t play coy with me! I only returned us to a fixed point. Tell me how you turned back time; tell me how you made it to Redcliffe!”

He deliberated for a moment, as if pondering whether or not he should answer the question. In all honesty Dorian was surprised Cullen hadn’t pulled him from the man yet. It was true; Alexius looked older, older than he had been when he’d mentored Dorian, older even than when they’d fought in Redcliffe. He vaguely recalled a memory, Alexius’ body lying before him, surrounded by red and green. Only one other knew that world.

“I can show you. If you still have the amulet.”

“Of course I do… Now, I need a healer.” Dorian turned to the few mages who hadn’t ascended into the tower. “Spirit healer?”

“Good luck with that Messere.” A quiet voice answered. The mage stepped forward, and Dorian recognised the boy quickly. Trevelyan. “All of the good ones left to fight.”

“So who are the bad ones?! I don’t give a shit, I’ll take anyone.”

“Well, it’d be just me.” The boy answered. “The circles got dissolved before I could properly master the talent and all. Never got my Harrowing. Only really staid because I’m working for Lady Nightingale.”

“But you’re a spirit healer?! The _only_ spirit healer?”

“Yes.” He said hesitantly.

“I suppose that will have to suffice.” He admitted.

“What in the Makers name are you planning?!” Cullen finally asked.

“You may watch if the fancy really takes you. Now I suggest you all keep up.”

“But, Alexius is… Dorian, you intend to travel in time? If I recall last time that had disastrous results.” The Commander attempted to reason as Dorian turned away; beginning his march towards the inquisitor’s quarters, where he was certain the amulet still remained.

“When you spoke with Dennet upon our departure, how many horses remained?” He asked quickly, ascending the steps into the hall.

“None. We gave you the best steeds. However a Drasolisk, a hart and that blasted ‘unicorn’ remain.”

“Vishante kaffas. Are they quick?”

“If you can control them, I have heard the hart is. The dead horse, well…”

“It will have to suffice. It will all have to suffice!” He cried in exasperation, taking steps two at a time, storming through the keep. When Josephine attempted to speak to him, the concern obvious in her features, he waved her away, the commander stating that he would soon explain to the best of his ability.

His small crate of belongings yet to find a home still sat in the corner of their room, and once he’d thrown the doors open, it was the first thing he rifled through.

“You realise the distortion of time was only made possible due to the errant magical energy released by the rifts, the cracks in the veil made it far simpler to alter the flow of reality. With what these Southerners call ‘the breach’ closed-” Alexius began.

“Not all of the rifts are gone. I encountered one on the way here. Opened anew by the breach we just closed I’d imagine.” Dorian argued.

“Yes, but when I first used the amulets magic there was a breach, now there are only a few lingering rifts, the tears in the veil are fewer, the power needed to distort reality far greater.”

“Well lucky you you’re sending us back to a time when a brand shiny new breach had just popped into existence. Oodles of errant magic spilling from the veil there, yes? Surely that must count for something?”

“I… Suppose. But the risks are still present.”

“I’m willing to take them.” He stated, his hand finally clasping a chain, he tugged it from the box in triumph. “Now, when I was forced to use it I simply examined the lingering aura that still remained, thankfully shifting time disrupts the veil quite significantly, and removing Adaar and his mark was a rather large disruption, so I was able to pinpoint it rather easily.”

“But you need me to ensure you travel to an exact time. It won’t be precise.” He admitted as Dorian handed the amulet to him, seeing Cullen tense slightly in the corner of his vision.

“Well, I’d rather not appear years in the future like last time thank you very much.”

“The best I can offer is an hour divergence.” The mage sighed as the amulet hovered above his fingertips glowing with an eerie green light.

“Not good enough, he’d be dead by the time I get there.” Dorian argued.

“He? Your lover, the qunari?”

“Fasta Vass Alexius. Fuck your petty rivalry. If you don’t help I… I’m going to lose him.”

The Magister paused for a moment, the amulet still suspended in the air above his palms. “And so you seek the help of a Venatori, so that you may travel back in time and save him?”

“I… Yes.”

He smiled a slow, small thing. “You once called me a fool, a mad man, for such a thing.”

“I’m not going to help the Venatori conquer Thedas.”

“The principle is there, as is the irony I suppose.” His old mentor chuckled. “I only hope you have more luck than I.”

“Should all go to plan I won’t require luck.”

“But _you_ would be the fool not to take it.”

He was blinded suddenly by a flash of green, knocked backwards with such force that he barely remained upright, but he was determined not to be thrown to the ground another time that day.

When Dorian reopened his eyes he was almost surprised to see their quarters. Maxwell sat on the floor beside him, but other than that it was devoid of any other company. The sun sat just above the mountains, a great tear in the sky. They had time.

“Where will you be right now?” Dorian asked.

Maxwell looked at him in confusion for a moment, before understanding the meaning of the question. “I delivered the message to yourself and the Herald, and then I returned to Leliana… When the sky ripped open she had me informing Master Solas. He was talking to me about spirits.”

“I believe this is some time after that.” Dorian informed, looking out at the horizon.

“I spoke to Helisma. She didn’t understand, I explained it to her. I know they don’t feel but… Well, I didn’t want her getting confused, if she can... Nobody thinks about tranquil when things go tits up. And I guess she calms-”

“That’s all I need to know. We have to ensure we arrive in time.”

“Ah, sorry Messere. But surely he’s alive, you can stop worrying for now. I mean, past you has only just left Skyhold. You still have to battle Corypheus, we’ll arrive in time.”

“I’m not going to risk it.” He stated as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He peered from the door cautiously, Josephine was stood amongst the nobles, trying to calm distressed lords.

“I’ve been thinking. Surely since you can go back in time, can’t you just stop it from happening, save him?”

“That’s precisely what I’m planning.”

“Then… Why am I here? Why are we sneaking around.”

“In case, as you so elegantly put it, shit goes tits up. You’re plan B. And we’re sneaking because if any of the advisors catch me they’ll no doubt question why I’m still in Skyhold and not half way to closing the breach.”

“This whole time travelling thing is really fascinating stuff. And you bring back the dead?”

“In a sense.” He answered shortly, looking for an opening in the mingling nobles.

“Tevinter sounds amazing. The circle would never have allowed it.”

“Perhaps you should holiday there some time.”

The boy laughed quietly. “The only problem is, being a Tevinter you stand out. At the circle you learn how to hide, even in a crowd of Templars. When you’re the youngest in a noble Free Marcher family, you learn how to do the same.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Trevelyan dipped his head around the corner of the door inspecting the scene. His lips pulled into a pout for a moment, before easing into a smile. With a simple wave of his hand a gust of air blew under a noblewoman’s skirt. She shrieked loudly drawing the attention of several others, a few men snickering at the display, which the woman took serious offense to, quick dropping her lady-like airs to land a solid right hook on one of the nobleman’s jaws. On the other side of the room, Dorian almost missed it, the freezing of the floor, perfectly under a nobles feet, so that when he shifted he slid, tumbling to the ground, much to the delight of his acquaintances, all of whom lost their good humour when they soon found themselves on the floor.

Watching the ruckus Dorian was enraptured, two simple spells and the whole room had been seemingly thrown into chaos, even those who had not been thrown by the opening of the breach were now occupied. Trevelyan gripped the Altus’ wrist, dragging him through the centre of the crowd.

“Nobody will remember the two mages, not when the sky split open, a duchess showed her under things and a bunch of nobles ended up on their arse.”

“Well, bravo.” It was true they had managed to exit the hall without incident. “Now,” Dorian began, eying the Commander in the courtyard. “How to be rid of Cullen?”

“One moment.” Trevelyan stated. He trotted down the steps easily, leaving Dorian to hide behind the door to the grand building, he watched the two converse, the boy bowing his head slightly. After a short moment the Commander turned and jogged towards the mage tower. Dorian watched him for a moment, ensuring he was gone, before joining with Trevelyan to sprint to the stables.

“What on earth did you tell him?”

“I told him one of the apprentices had been searching for him?”

“Wont that have repercussions, for past you I mean? I’ve never travelled into the past before, I’m not certain how this works.” Dorian asked in surprise, almost stopping.

“No, he came to talk with me about an hour ago. Argued with me about my false message. I had no idea what he was talking about. Now I get it, it’s because future me told him.”

“But then, that means this _has_ happened…” Dorian mused as he paused inside the stables. “If Cullen argued with you, then you on some varying timeline, some alternate universe, must have already travelled back and told Cullen. We’re caught in a loop.”

“What… What do you mean?”

“Surely the Dorian who left Skyhold before us to close the breach, and the Trevelyan who’s no doubt getting a bollocking somewhere in the near future, are both going to travel back in time… We’ve already lost.”

“So, we just break the loop? We’ve still got plenty of time.”

“But surely the last Trevelyan said that too. Maker, we don’t have time to spare, we have to leave.”

“On those?” Trevelyan asked, eyeing the rein he was handed for the hart.

“You’re a noble, surely you know how to ride a horse, it’s not much different.”

“I was taken to the circle when I turned six!”

“Ah, well, get on and good luck then.” Dorian stated, mounting his own steed, the dead horse.

As it turned out Trevelyan had been forced to take up riding whilst on the go when the circles had been disbanded and when he’d made his way down south. And in a turn of luck the Hart had taken a shine to him, even if the boy never did seem to shut up. Dorian wondered why Leliana ever used the young man as a messenger, a mage who never ceased his constant wittering, surely he was a liability.

They’d made it past the crossroads by dark, and Dorian calculated they only had a couple of hours ahead of them, just enough time to catch up if they kept on riding, hopefully Maxwell’s presence wasn’t required after all. He had to admit though, for all his complaining about Trevelyan’s chatter, even as they road hard, shouting against the wind, it was a distraction, it pulled his mind from other possibilities.

“What in the Maker’s name is that?!” Max cried and a smile pulled onto Dorian’s lips as he saw the floating platforms in the distance.

“We’re not too late!”

Dorian pushed the unicorn harder, even though it had been slowing considerable over the previous miles, who’d have believed a dead horse could tire? Galloping ever closer he could barely hold back the near manic laughter, the events of only a few hours ago seemed like a vicious dream.

But as he drew ever closer to the floating platforms in the sky the mounts stopped abruptly, Trevelyan flying from the hart at a speed that was certain to leave him sore. The animals’ distress became apparent as a beacon of green light shone into the breach. They had defeated Corypheus, both a blessing and a curse. Looking down at the boy, Dorian only hesitated for a moment before lashing the reins on his steed, but the horse refused to move towards the pulse of green light.

“Kaffas!” Dorian cried. Examining the distance between them and the platform that would no doubt begin to fall any second, he jumped from the horse, running.

“What are you doing?!” Trevelyan exclaimed.

“Leave the fucking mounts! We don’t have time!” He called, not bothering to turn or look back, but after a moment he could hear footsteps following him, unsteady at first, but gaining in speed.

“It’s falling!”

“Of course it is!” Dorian answered running ever forward. He was almost at the edge now.

Then hands around his waist, throwing him to the ground, that same ground, a sickening sense of familiarity. But when he rolled the Altus was face to face with Trevelyan. “If you get crushed by that giant platform how are you supposed to save him?!”

“I need to get closer!” Dorian argued as he fought against the body that held him pinned. He was bigger, stronger, but they boy hadn’t rode for almost a day all things considered, and defeated an ancient darkspawn. Dorian didn’t know how much more he could fight.

“You’re going to get yourself killed. Stay back a moment.” The young mage instructed.

“I have to get to him!”

“In a moment! I swear.” Dorian could do naught but lie under the boy’s gaze waiting for the sickening crack that echoed throughout the valley. Before the dust had time to hit them, he had already thrown the boy away, sprinting towards the rubble.

He searched amidst piles of rock for something that seemed familiar. Steps. Crumbling walls. A steep drop. Debris crashed beside him, but he continued onwards. The sky was still falling. Then he saw them. Not too far away, and his legs were already moving with speed he did not know he could muster.

He had no time to dwell on the strangeness of the situation, on the fact that as he drew closer, for a moment he was face to face with himself, his past-self looking at him with bleary confusion and complete recognition. But he could not recall this moment, could not remember looking up from the shock of landing to see his own features gazing back. Surely that meant something had been altered. Surely that meant all hope was not lost.

Then his past self was moving, being launched from the path of the falling rock, and all of Dorian’s attention returned to the task at hand. A fade step, it would have done it, it would have covered the distance between himself and Adaar, and he cursed himself for never learning. So he ran, stumbling on loose rocks as he closed the distance. There was a brief moment of the same recognition in Adaar’s features, before he threw himself against the qunari, covering the final feet in one leap, both he and his amatus toppling to the ground.

Conscious thought played little part in his actions, only the simple fact that Adaar had been so ready to die. And now the same resignation filled him, this was not a mission he would return from. _They all knew the risks when they signed up. Festis bei umo canavarum._

“Dorian?!” Adaar’s voice was frantic, and he only had enough time to turn, to flash a reassuring smile.

The pain didn’t register so much. He was glad for it, quick and painless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you follow me on Tumblr, odds are you probably already know, since I post about it so damn often, I'm planning on, and already have a fair chunk of a follow up fic, a sequel if you like, set four years post inquisition. It's going to have politics, intrigue, badass female characters, an uprising and lesbians, so... Don't know if that tickles your pickle but I'm really excited about it since it's a chance at original plot with some original characters as well as many familiar faces, and it gives me a chance to explore things I have left extremely (intentional... mostly) open in this fic.   
> My motivation for posting about it here however, is that I'm hoping to grasp someone, or multiple somones, who enjoyed the fic, and would be up for proofreading, since having someone to read over what I've written would be fantastic, considering my dyslexia means I'm reading over everything at least twice before posting it.  
> If you are interested, I already have a few chapters, and you should hit me up on my tumblr (which should be in the note underneath...)!


	36. Epilogue - The Tale of The Inquisitor (A Working Title)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the end, I just hope it makes sense. It's certainly been something... Thank you to everyone who read, who left kudos, who commented, who bookmarked, when I posted the first chapter I could not imagine the monster of a fic this would turn out to become, or the reception I would receive! Truly thank you everyone for your support!

Dorian pressed the spine of the book gently, the well-loved copy of the _Tale of the Champion_ slipping in beside the other fiction that had amassed in his alcove. He smiled at the battered copy, though many of the books in the library had been restored to their former glory, he highly doubted he’d ever fix it. There was a certain charm to its lopsided nature; there were memories in its dog-eared corners, where places had been held so that other activities could be pursued.

“You busy Sparkler?” The cocky dwarf called from behind and Dorian didn’t turn to acknowledge him, even though a smile tugged at his lips.

“For what exactly do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I was thinking of sending Max, kids got a soft spot for you, but he’s still not up for it. So I thought I’d give you a personal invite. You could do with a distraction.” Honestly sorting the library had become his distraction, but surely it couldn’t hurt.

“From the esteemed author Varric Tethras, my my, I am flattered.” He droned, finally turning his attention.

“Wicked Grace?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Josephine has been harping for weeks about her next chance to steal the commanders clothing.”

“How are you holding up?” Varric asked tentatively.

Dorian mulled over his answer for a moment, as they descended the steps into the lower level of the rotunda that housed the library. Art covered the walls from ground floor to the banister on the second level, the bright colours and abstract designs depicted the inquisitions journey, he knew that after looking at them a short while. The breach, the forming of the inquisition, the mages joining, Adamant, and the Warden’s joining, Celene atop her throne, the sentinels in the temple of Mythal, and one final piece, unfinished. That one had puzzled him most, he was sure that other imagery was due to join the markings on the wall, but now they never would. A shame, he supposed.

Finally he answered, “I’m doing well. As it turns out, defeating an ancient Magister ensures you have no shortage of friends. Speaking of Max, I believe I need a chat with Master Trevelyan, he’s been telling some rather wild stories about me.”

“Anything wild enough I might be interested?”

“Time travel and spirits, and- and well, the body they found…”

“Looked suspiciously like you even with its head smushed?” Varric offered. Dorian gave a chill, recalling the moment they had removed the boulder to reveal his own body, face deformed almost beyond recognition. But still, there was no denying it, his robes, his scars, albeit near unidentifiable, those who dared look close enough could not deny it was his face.

“Looked exactly like me. I saw them, with my own eyes Varric, _before_ they died. It was me, and Trevelyan seems to have an explanation for that. But, well, I haven’t managed to find much sense from him in between those strange episodes he’s been having, and all that time he’s been putting in with the healers. I hope the lad takes time to recover, instead of spending all of his time helping others.”

“So do I Sparkler, the things I hear he’s been spouting… If I put it in a book I don’t think my readers would believe it.”

“About that… I was wondering. Have you perhaps started your Tale of the Inquisitor yet?” Dorian asked as they climbed down the stairs to the courtyard, lit by the dim remains of the evening sun, and the lanterns being lit by passing staff.

“That’s only the working title, when it goes to print it’ll no doubt be something far more eye catching. Why, are you interested? Cassandra not my only fan?”

“Don’t be utterly ridiculous. It’s simply that Hawke gave me a few suggestions. I’d like to take his advice.”

“I’d watch out,” The dwarf chuckled fondly, “Hawke’s advice can get you knee deep in shit, sometimes literal.”

“It sounds as if there’s an interesting story there. My, what people we elect as our saviours…” He sighed with a laugh, holding open the tavern door.

“Festivities are arranged for a week tomorrow.” He heard Josephine announce over the noise of the bar. “It will allow the nobles some time to arrive, give us time to comfortably organise, and, importantly, give our heroes time to recover.”

“We’ve already had half a week!” Sera argued. “I’m itchin’ for a good-”

“And Sera,” Josephine added quickly, “You will only be invited under the strict agreement that all nobles leave unharmed.”

“What?!” She squawked, before contemplating for a moment. “So, if I was to, I dunno paint a duchess’s bits green, yeah? No body harmed. Change the shitty salmon for cake? Everyone’s laughing. Release a bunch of live nugs-”

“No, Sera! Well… In all honesty I am slightly intrigued as to how you would complete the first task… _However,_ I will be forced to stop you at the nugs.” Josephine insisted.

 “Everything but nugs. Got ya. Don’t like their weird little faces anyway.”

Dorian perched between Cassandra and the rowdy elf, his arrival almost unnoticed due to the conversation occurring, only the seeker flashing him a small smile. Eventually Varric cleared his throat, “All here,” With a frown and a quick glance at the empty chair he added, “Well nearly all.”

After the short silence Josephine announced, “Well, shall we begin? I do believe the Commander still has to regain his dignity.”

As everyone discussed the technicalities of the game, Cassandra still confused, and Cole revealing that he was going to be a major instrument in someone’s destruction later in the evening, she dealt the hand, the conversation beginning to flow again, not focusing on the empty chair.

“Well, it appears you have enough people, I should be going.” Cullen suggested as he made to leave.

“Come now.” Dorian argued. “Surely you of all people have a stake in this game, considering _last time._ ”

The commander blushed crimson. “Fine, I will stay, but only for one round.”

And with that Josephine began, debating how ‘daring’ she wanted to be. _Antivans_ they all knew they were being played, especially after they saw her expertise in the last game, but still, Bull was the first to rise to the bait, throwing in a silver, Krem in the Chargers corner sighing and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Here we go” that concluded with the rest of the mercenary group pulling closer, one chair per two Chargers, and one for a particular second in command and dwarven scout that made Dorian raise an eyebrow, before Bull caught his glance and mouthed _one off_. With that Blackwall added his stakes, glancing up at Josephine as he did so, Varric continuing the chain, Vivienne complained about how she had been dragged into such a simple affair as she finally added, but Dorian knew she would be one to watch, when finally he threw in his own coin.

“So?” Varric asked, “Who’s getting the next round in?”

Sera announced from behind. “This ones on me. Well, on that minstrel. I think she’s got eyes for me…”

“You going to take her up on it?” Bull asked

“Eh, dunno. Not really my type, but I might… I always wanted to ask, what’re your women like?”

“Tamassrans? Terrifying… and inspiring. They teach you everything you need to know, give your life a purpose.”

“No, I mean… I look at you and Adaar. And you make me think things, like, are they like you two? Big… and phwoar?”

“Oh, shit yeah.”

Sera giggled, “Wow.”

Dorian chuckled too, surely Adaar’s sisters would have to hide from the elf should they meet. It did make him wonder though for a moment, about the Kadan before the blood ritual, how they might have presented, how different they might have been to the man he came to love.

“Did all of you bastards meet without me?” A familiar voice shouted over the noise of the tavern and Dorian was sure for a moment that his heart stopped.

“Kaffas!” Dorian cried, leaping from his chair before he realised his body was in motion. “You’re not supposed to be awake.”

His amatus smiled at him. “I didn’t want to miss out on all of the fun.”

“But surely you’re not ready to be wandering about yet?” Dorian fussed, standing before the qunari inquisitor.

“I’m fine, the healers have released me. In fact one of them decided to come with me.” Max stepped timidly around the giant man waving ever so slightly.

“Ah, Trevelyan! Just the man I was searching for as a matter of fact.” Dorian admitted.

“You were looking for me?”

“Of course. Will you join us for a game or two? I know _you_ will.” He stated turning to Adaar.

“Hey?! Varric owes me money, and I intend to receive it with interest.” He joked.

Previously empty seat now filled by the many additions to the game, Adaar took Dorian’s seat as he sat by the table, taking up Dorian’s cards and barely managing to keep a straight face, as it was he glanced to Dorian and the mage knew precisely what that look meant. He had ten silvers riding on one of the worst hands he could imagine.

Concealing his laugh as Adaar announced “Fifteen silvers!” Dorian turned to the young mage beside him.

The boy was ringing his hands, watching over the game nervously. “Have you ever played?”

“Twice.” He answered. “The Templars weren’t fond of the younger mages mixing with too many of the older ones, they gave us ideas, taught us things above our level, and that’s when things started to go wrong. But we never had enough older boys willing to play on our own.”

“Would you like to play now?”

“I’ll just watch.” He answered. After a short pause he asked, “Why did you want to speak with me?”

“I imagine you can guess.”

“You want to know what happened. If- If I tell you, will you answer something for me too?”

“Of course.”

“We travelled through time.” The boy stated. “You and I. Alexius helped, and so did Cullen.”

“Is that why I saw myself there, at the closing of the breach?” Trevelyan nodded silently. “Why did he come here? Why did he give his life? What time was he from? What time are _you_ from?”

“He travelled to the past, because in his time the Inquisitor died.” Dorian reeled back a moment, but Maxwell continued to speak. “He changed time itself to save him.”

“Surely that has some form of ramification?!”

“He did mention that. I’m yet to discover what became of me, present me, who belongs to this time. No one has mentioned it in the days I’ve been here, but surely, there should be two of me, because _you_ never went back in time.”

“No… Are you alright? Have you let the healers look you over, you were at the closing of the breach too.”

“I didn’t fight. I don’t need healing.” He argued.

“If you’re certain… Now, what was that question you had for me?”

“I- I was just wondering… You met Hope, right?”

“Hope? You mean the spirit that came to me in the fade? Yes… How could you know that?”

The boy stumbled for a moment before answering, “I’m sorry, future you told me! I forget sometimes that some things I remember didn’t happen.”

“So, why exactly do you ask?”

 “I- I was simply wondering, hope is something not so easily monitored.”

Dorian paused for a moment, before asking slowly, “Are you certain you’re alright?”

“I’m sure I will be, I’ve just been a bit out of sorts lately. Time travel and all, left me a little confused. I think I’m going to retire early, maybe I’ll join you for the next game.”

“Perhaps. Goodnight Max.”

“Goodnight Messere Pavus. I hope you enjoy your evening.” He beamed as he turned and left the tavern.

“I hope so too.” He muttered idly to himself as he watched the boy cross the courtyard.

Upon his return to the table he was forced to take a seat in Adaar’s lap, Varric offering his own as a joke, and Dorian was almost half tempted to take it purely to see the dwarves reaction. Sera came through on her promise, and returned with a ridiculous amount of ale, and a giggling minstrel who had apparently called in a favour. When Adaar went to drink from Dorian’s mug his hand was quickly swatted away, and Dorian could sense Vivienne’s disapproval across the table as she sipped her wine, pressing away a mug that the ‘Herald of Andraste’ quickly disrupted the table to reach. Cole had a small glass of someone’s ale, though no one was quite sure who had dipped out, and the boy tentatively sipped on it, before pulling a face, and continuing to sip extraordinarily slowly.

The game continued well into the night, many leaving, one by one, some staying and continuing to drink, money depleting, into the prize fund and occasionally into Cabot’s pocket, many patrons willing to offer a drink to the Herald and the heroes who put a stop to the end of the world. Until the generosity of strangers led them to the stage where Adaar was asking if he was able to use Skyhold as a bet.

The Altus took that as their cue to retire to bed, rising unsteadily to his feet, he gripped Adaar’s arm, tugging it despite the fact there was no way he could shift the qunari. Thankfully he stood under his own power announcing a drunken good night to the entirety of the tavern’s patrons, but by that point everyone was merry enough to offer him a reply.

Thankfully they both had enough wits about them to ascend all of the steps required to make it to the inquisitor’s quarters. As the door swung closed behind them Adaar made a beeline for the bed, flopping backwards onto it with a grunt, arms spread wide. Dorian chuckled before falling forward atop the qunari, a rush of breath escaped the man beneath him before a sharp laugh.

“You know.” Adaar began. “With Thedas safe for now, there’s no reason for anyone to interrupt us.”

“I suppose not.” Dorian admitted, hands already running under the cotton shirt, trailing over warm skin.

“I suppose we ought to celebrate it not being the end of the world and all.” Dorian laughed as he leaned forward, his lips finding Adaar’s, pressing together softly. A large hand cupped his cheek and he smiled against the lips, receiving a quiet chuckle, and an arm, snaking around his waist, pulling him closer.

He knew, one day he would have to return to Tevinter, but for now he was content to stay, in the arms of one thing Tevinter truly lacked. Revolution could wait a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take this moment to say there will be a sequel. It will have more order than this, I have an actual plot planned and everything! And a little something I didn't mention last time because I didn't want to spoil anything. These two will be returning, and heading to Tevinter. But I hope I've created a unique Dorian in Tevinter story.
> 
> And just thank you again everyone. I would never have finished this without you.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want, [you can follow me on Tumblr!](http://sjinsbutt.tumblr.com)
> 
> And I would just like to say a huge HUGE thank you to everyone who has left kudos and to those who have left comments, thank you thank you thank you, you keep me going.
> 
> [The sequel Last Resorts of Good Men is now underway!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4528530/chapters/10304217)


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